Studies on Science and Culture
Politics and Culture in
Southeastern Europe
Răzvan Theodorescu
and
Leland Conley Barrows
Bucharest
2001
Studies on Science and Culture
Editor of the Series:
Leland Conley Barrows
Assistants to the Editor:
Maria-Ana Dumitrescu
Viorica Popa
Valentina Pîslaru
ISBN 92-9069-161-6
© UNESCO 2001
Contents
Preface .................................................................................................. 9
Foreword ............................................................................................. 15
Răzvan Theodorescu and Leland Conley Barrows
I.
Imperial Ideology and Classicizing Rhetoric in Byzantine
Historical Writing ...................................................................... 17
Nicolae-Şerban Tanaşoca
A. Preliminary Remarks ............................................................... 17
B. Byzantine Historical Writing Between
the Sixth and the Tenth Centuries........................................... 19
C. Latinisms in Byzantine Historical Writing Between
the Sixth and the Tenth Centuries........................................... 24
D. Rhetoric and Ideology in Byzantine Literature ........................ 28
E. The Language and Latinisms of Byzantine Historical Writing.... 33
F. Language Variants and Latinisms in Byzantine Historical Writing
Between the Sixth and the Tenth Centuries.................................. 38
G. Conclusions ............................................................................ 42
H. Bibliography............................................................................ 43
1. References ....................................................................... 43
2. Other Literature............................................................... 45
II.
The Medieval State and Artistic Geneses in
Southeastern Europe................................................................ 46
Răzvan Theodorescu
A. Course and Consequences of Conversion to Christianity .......... 46
B. The Situation of the Balkan Slavs ............................................ 47
C. Romanian Exceptionalism ....................................................... 56
D. Bibliography............................................................................ 59
1. References ....................................................................... 59
2. Other Literature............................................................... 60
III.
A Byzantine Model for Political and State Structure
in Southeastern Europe between the Thirteenth and
the Fifteenth Centuries............................................................. 63
Stelian Brezeanu
A. Introduction ............................................................................ 63
B. The Idea of Universal Empire: Theory and Reality .................... 64
1. Titles ............................................................................... 70
2. Symbols of Power............................................................. 72
C. Reception of the Model............................................................. 74
1. The Case of Bulgaria ........................................................ 74
2. The Serbian Experience ................................................... 77
3. A Strict Fidelity: Russia.................................................... 79
4. The Romanian Principalities: An Imperial Plan?................ 81
D. Conclusions ............................................................................ 90
E. Bibliography ............................................................................ 92
1. References ....................................................................... 92
2. Other Literature............................................................... 93
IV.
Aperçus of the History of Balkan Romanity ............................ 94
Nicolae-Şerban Tanaşoca
A. Romanian and Foreign Research on the Balkan Romanians...... 94
1. The Balkan Romanians .................................................... 94
2. Romanian Research on Balkan Romanians ...................... 97
3. Tendencies in Foreign Research on Balkan Romanians ... 104
B. The “Romanian Problem” in the Middle Ages – the Historical
Meaning of the Kingdom of Vlachs and Bulgarians................... 115
C. The “Aromanian” Issue .......................................................... 134
1. Stages of the “Aromanian Issue” in the Development of
Romanian Balkan Policy ................................................ 134
2. Balkan Prerequisites of the Aromanian National Rebirth . 136
3. The Beginnings of Aromanian Written Culture among
Aromanian Émigrés in Central Europe........................... 140
4. Pre-Nineteenth Century Daco-Romanians and Balkan
Romanians.................................................................... 145
D. Beginnings of the Second Aromanian Rebirth ........................ 148
1. Genesis of the “Aromanian Issue”................................... 148
2. Memorials and Manifestos.............................................. 150
3. The “Aromanian Issue” between 1879 and
the First World War ....................................................... 154
4. The Fading but Possible Metamorphosis of
the “Aromanian Issue” ................................................... 158
E. Bibliography .......................................................................... 160
1. Documentary Sources.................................................... 160
2. References ..................................................................... 161
3. Other Literature............................................................. 169
V.
Landmarks of Christianity-Related Balkan Folk Traditions 171
Sabina Ispas
A. The Concept of Folklore (Popular Culture)............................... 171
B. Space and Time: Sacred and Secular ..................................... 178
C. The Legend: Origin, Function, Determination ........................... 194
D. Conclusion............................................................................ 224
E. Bibliography .......................................................................... 224
1. References ....................................................................... 224
2. Other Literature ............................................................... 227
VI. Varieties of Nationalism and National Ideas in Nineteenthand Twentieth-Century Southeastern Europe ..................... 229
Gheorghe Zbuchea
A. Features – Interferences - Confrontations................................ 229
B. National Case Studies............................................................ 233
1. The Case of Greece ........................................................ 233
2. The Case of Bulgaria ...................................................... 236
3. The Case of Albania ....................................................... 241
4. The Case of the Balkan Romanians ................................ 244
5. The Case of Yugoslavia................................................... 248
C. Bibliography.......................................................................... 256
1. References ..................................................................... 256
2. Other Literature............................................................. 256
VII. Civil Society and the Breakdown of the Totalitarian
Régimes in Eastern Europe: Case Studies............................ 258
Adrian Pop
A. Concepts ............................................................................... 258
1. Dictatorship .................................................................... 258
2. Democratization and Liberalization .................................. 259
3. Civil Society..................................................................... 260
4. The Concept of Crisis: A Systemic Approach..................... 263
5. Revolution ....................................................................... 265
B. The 1989 Eastern European Revolutions ............................... 267
1. The Role of Civil Society ................................................. 268
2. Transition Paths ............................................................ 269
3. Transition through Negotiation: The Cases of Poland
and Hungary .................................................................. 269
a. Poland .......................................................................... 270
b. Hungary ....................................................................... 272
4. Transition through Capitulation: The Cases of
East Germany and Czechoslovakia ................................ 275
a. The German Democratic Republic ................................. 275
b. Czechoslovakia ............................................................. 278
5. Transition through Coup d’Etat and Liberalization:
The Case of Bulgaria ....................................................... 279
6. Transition through Popular Uprising and Coup d’Etat:
The Case of Romania....................................................... 281
7. Transition through Liberalization and Collapse:
The Case of Albania......................................................... 286
8. Transition through Liberalization and Implosion:
The Cases of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
and of Yugoslavia ........................................................... 290
a. The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics.............................. 290
b. Yugoslavia......................................................................... 295
C. Conclusions .......................................................................... 298
D. Bibliography.......................................................................... 299
1. References ..................................................................... 299
2. Other Literature............................................................. 300
The Authors ..................................................................................... 304
Index ................................................................................................. 315
UNESCO-CEPES Publications ........................................................ 331
Preface
Through the long-awaited publication of this volume of studies on the
politics and culture of Southeastern Europe, UNESCO-CEPES is
expressing its support for the activities carried out by the UNESCO Chair
in Southeast European Studies, at the University of Arts in Bucharest,
Romania. It is also giving proof of the broadening of its base of activities
from that of international co-operation in higher education - the
fundamental activity and mission of UNESCO-CEPES since its founding in
1972 - to one that reflects the other main sectors of activity of UNESCO as
a whole, particularly the natural sciences, the social and human sciences,
and culture. Such an enlarged mission evokes the second function of
UNESCO-CEPES, that of the UNESCO Office in Bucharest.
The UNITWIN/UNESCO Chairs programme was launched in 1991, the
acronym, UNITWIN, standing for “Programme for Reinforcing InterUniversity Co-operation and Academic Mobility through Twinning
Arrangements”. In the words of Professor Dumitru Chiţoran (in, Higher
Education in Europe 21 2-3 [1996]: 91-92) one of the initiators of the
programme:
It was meant to mark a return to the spirit of international academic
solidarity, through twinning, networking, and other linking
arrangements among universities. The Programme was also designed
as an innovative form for the rapid transfer of knowledge and for
institutional development in higher education, including the
establishment of transnational centers for advanced studies and
research, as a means to redress the widening knowledge gap
between industrially developed and developing countries. One other
aim of the programme is to alleviate the negative effects of the brain
drain.
Regarding the “UNESCO Chair in Southeast European Studies”, the
1999 UNESCO publication, Directory/Répertoire UNESCO Chairs UNITWIN
Chaires UNESCO (Paris: UNESCO, 1999) lists the fields and disciplines
that it covers as “language, cultural development, and intercultural
dialogue”. The Chairholder of this UNESCO Chair is the eminent
Romanian art historian, Professor Răzvan Theodorescu, who, as of
January 2001, is Romanian Minister of Culture. It is his inspiration that
has given rise to the publication of this volume. In addition to the
Chairholder, the Chair also has two associate professors, Romanian
academics, Nicolae-Şerban Tanaşoca and Adrian Pop, both of whom have
contributed to this volume.
According to the Directory cited above, the “UNESCO Chair in SouthEast European Studies” has the following objectives:
9
10
PREFACE
To promote an integrated system of research, training, information
and documentation activities in the field of languages and civilization
in the subregion including [the] following activities: Development of
postgraduate study programmes in various universities of the
subregion; preparation of a comparative analysis of development,
including the Central European countries, the Mediterranean area
and the Near East; Establishment of an information and
communication center; Establishment of a cultural advisory group
for the resolution of conflicts in the subregion (p. 236).
Thus the authors, who have contributed to this volume, have
undertaken a mostly historical comparative analysis of the cultural and
political heritage of the Southeastern European subregion by
concentrating on certain major common elements: the Byzantine heritage
in terms of language, particularly rhetoric, political tradition and structure,
religion, and art (I-III); the continued survival of islands of Latinity in the
subregion following the Hellenization of the Eastern Roman Empire and
the arrival and settlement of newcomers, particularly the Slavic peoples
(IV); common Christianity-related themes in the folklore of the subregion
(V); common and clashing themes in the various Nineteenth and Twentieth
Century nationalist awakenings and struggles in the subregion (VI); and
finally, the common experience of totalitarian rule in most of the area that
has been followed by different approaches to transition (VII).
Three of the contributors to the volume have dealt extensively with the
Byzantine heritage.
In the first study, Professor Nicolae-Şerban Tanaşoca, a classical
philologist by training, who is Professor of General and Comparative
Literature at the University of Arts in Bucharest, examines the link
between imperial ideology and classicizing rhetoric in different types of
Byzantine historical writing, particularly chronicles and histories, and the
role of Attic Greek and classical Latin survivals in the development of a
distinctive literary style. The latter, he points out, reflects the linguistically
diglot nature of the literati in the late Roman Empire - Greek for culture;
Latin for government - and explains why the evolution of Byzantine
historical writing over time reflected a decline in its scientific value and
ossification in terms of its literary merit.
In the second study, Professor Răzvan Theodorescu explains how the
relatively abrupt and spectacular conversion to Orthodox Christianity of
the Slavic peoples in Southeastern Europe around the year 1000 pushed
the rulers of the nascent medieval states of Bulgaria, Serbia, and Kievian
Russia to undertake the construction of richly decorated religious edifices
(the Royal Church of Pliska, the Preslav Circular Church, the Church of
the Studenica Monastery, etc.), usually in capital towns as a reflection of
the architectural splendour of imperial Constantinople. That this type of
construction did not appear in those areas, North of the Danube river,
where the Romanian state would crystallize, is explained by the fact that
the local inhabitants were already Christian and had been so for many
PREFACE
11
centuries, for they had formed part of the Christian Community of the
Roman Empire. The local rulers and Church leaders, therefore, did not feel
the need to mark, through brilliant ecclesiastic art and architecture, a
transition from a previously barbaric and Pagan state.
In the third study, Professor Stelian Brezeanu, a specialist in Byzantine
and medieval Balkan history at the University of Bucharest, focuses on the
Byzantine political heritage in Southeastern Europe, particularly during
the Thirteenth through Fifteenth Centuries, a period that witnessed the
break-up and the extinction of the Byzantine Empire. He traces the
subtleties of the meanings of the titles and the regalia adopted by the
rulers of the successor states: Bulgaria (the First and Second Czardoms),
Serbia, Kievian Russia, and eventually, the Grand Duchy of Muscovy and
the Romanian Principalities. For these new states, the adoption of
Byzantine titles, including that of basileus, autocrator, or czar, and
symbols of imperial authority, could, when rulers like Czar Simeon of
Bulgaria (893-927) or Stephen Dushan (1331-1355) of Serbia were at the
head of powerful state structures, serve to back a claim to rule in
Constantinople as universal Basileus, or, for weaker rulers, to claim
protection and recognition as members of the “family of princes” who
recognized the universal authority of the Constantinople Basileus. In the
case of the nascent Romanian Principalities, adoption of third-level
vassalage and the corresponding title of prince (domn) in regard to far-off
Constantinople as well as remaining within the Christian Orthodox fold
served as an ideological underpinning to resistance on the part of Walachia
(Argeş) and Moldavia to incorporation into the feudal Kingdom of Hungary,
particularly after Voivode Bassarab inflicted a very real military defeat on
King Charles I of Hungary (1308-1342), at the Battle of Posada in 1330. In
short, as the power of Constantinople waned, successor states on a
Byzantine model, with autocephalous Orthodox Patriarchates, would
consolidate themselves, only, finally, to be conquered and dominated by
the Ottoman and Habsburg Empires. The one state that escaped the latter
fate, the Muscovy Czardom, would, in a later era, “proclaim itself the
political heir of the New Rome”.
The fourth study, a second contribution by Professor Nicolae-Şerban
Tanaşoca, moves from a discussion of Latin survivals in Byzantine rhetoric to
one of ethno-linguistic survival, specifically, of “islands of Latinity” or of
“Romanity” in the Eastern European successor states of the
Roman/Byzantine Empire, a saga that he carries up to the present day.
The people in question, who are variously called “Vlachs”, “Aromanians”,
and South-Danubian Romanians, are linguistically linked to the “DacoRomanians” of North-Danubian Romania and could be found as far West
as Istria in what is now Croatia. Some of their communities, Moscopolis,
for instance, acquired great cultural and economic importance in the
Eighteenth-Century Pindus region of Northern Greece and in Macedonia.
As these communities formed non-contiguous “foreign” nuclei that were
surrounded by more numerous and homogenous ethno-national
groupings, and were linked, linguistically, with Romania, North of the
12
PREFACE
Danube, their presence became problematic as the principal Balkan
peoples coalesced, in the Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries, into
nations with conflicting nationalisms.
Professor Tanaşoca, who provides a wide-ranging analysis of the
scholarly literature on the Vlachs/Aromanians from several national points
of view, considers them to be a people who, by their presence in the
Balkans and their cultural and economic skills, have been a force for
transnational linkages in the area. The chapter includes a fascinating
study of the Asenid Dynasty, founded by two brothers, John and Peter
Asen, who, after 1185, created the Second Bulgarian Czardom in rebellion
against the Byzantine Empire that had extinguished and absorbed the
First Bulgarian Czardom in 1018. The peculiarity of this successful
dynasty, that was centered at Târnovo, well South of the Danube, is that
its founders were probably Vlachs, and not Bulgars.
The succeeding study (V) that deals with Christianity-related Balkan
folk traditions, dwells on a major contribution of the Byzantine Greek
heritage, that of the Orthodox Church. Dr. Sabina Ispas, Director of the
Institute of Ethnography and Folklore of the Romanian Academy, delivers
a tour d’horizon of the various ways Christian Orthodox teachings have
infused themselves into local folk traditions throughout the Balkans,
giving rise to a fairly uniform body of folklore that can be found from
Southern Greece to Northern Romania and from Western Serbia to the
Black Sea.
The final two studies (VI and VII), that deal squarely with the modern
and contemporary history of Southeastern Europe, have been written by
two Romanian specialists.
Dr. Gheorghe Zbuchea, author of the first one of these studies, on
nationalism and national ideas in Southeastern Europe in the Nineteenth
and Twentieth Centuries, is a Senior Lecturer in Balkan History, both at
the University of Bucharest and at Spiru Haret University, also in
Bucharest. He develops a broad historical panorama of the ultimately
successful, but conflicting, national movements of Greece (the first to
achieve independence from the Ottoman Empire in 1822), Bulgaria,
Albania, and Yugoslavia (including an analysis of the conflicting aims and
ideals of Serbia, the first of the Yugoslav states to be fully independent in
1878, and of Croatia, the other pole of South Slav nationalism, freed by the
breakup of the Austro-Hungarian Empire in 1918) with a discussion both
of the origins of modern Greek nationalism among the Phanariot Greek
community of Moldavia and of the vicissitudes of the communities of
Balkan Romanians (Vlachs, Aromanians) in Northern Greece and
Southern Yugoslavia.
Dr. Adrian Pop, the author of the final study, is the Deputy Director of
the Institute for Political Studies of Defense and Military History in
Bucharest. He delivers a tour d’horizon of the end of communism in
Eastern Europe, including the break-up of the former Soviet Union and the
former Yugoslavia. In so doing, he has identified six transition paths:
“transition through negotiation” (Poland and Hungary); “transition through
PREFACE
13
capitulation”
(the
former
German
Democratic
Republic
and
Czechoslovakia); “transition through coup d’état and liberalization”
(Bulgaria); “transition through popular uprising and coup d’état”
(Romania); “transition through liberalization and collapse” (Albania); and
“transition through liberalization and implosion” (the former Soviet Union
and Yugoslavia).
The authors of this volume have clearly illustrated many aspects of the
long, tumultuous, and rich history of Southeastern Europe. Although the
region contributed one of its geographical names, “Balkan” (derived from
the word for mountain in Turkish) to world political terminology as a
synonym for extreme political and national fragmentation, Professor
Theodorescu and his team of scholars have shown us that the region
shares many commonalities: numerous historical, cultural, and political
themes that could serve as a basis for greater subregional cohesion. They
have also reminded us that in this subregion of Europe, “almost threethousand years ago, the European continent was spiritually born”.
Jan Sadlak
Director of UNESCO-CEPES
Foreword
RĂZVAN THEODORESCU and LELAND CONLEY BARROWS
This volume includes the principal lectures that were delivered during the
first academic year (1997-1998) of operation of the UNESCO Chair in
Southeast European Studies at the University of Arts in Bucharest.
Benefiting from the continuing support of the UNESCO European
Center for Higher Education (UNESCO-CEPES), this Chair hopes to lay the
basis for a series of multi-disciplinary lectures delivered by visiting
professors – historians of the arts, of beliefs, and of literature; political
scientists, ethnologists, geographers, etc., that will be periodically
produced in printed form. Their common concern is one of the most
complex cultural regions of the European continent and of the world:
Southeastern Europe.
This volume is constructed around certain common themes that
emphasize the peculiarities of this European area that is situated at one of
the main crossroads of certain old empires and modern civilizations. It
presents the Southeastern European region as a space with, at least, three
features:
A Christian space, consisting both of an ancient, sedentary Christianity
inherited from the Roman world (the case of Romania) and a newer
Christianity that emerged through the conversion to Christianity of
certain barbaric and nomadic tribes (the case of the Slavic and the
Turanic peoples, later, the Serbian and the Bulgarian nations). A
comparative look makes possible some conclusions as to the
conversion to Christianity in the Balkan-Slavic world and as to the
Romanian exception, which explains some elements of a longue
durée parallel history. The Christian spirit, which shaped the
medieval and modern civilization of Southeastern Europe, created, at
the same time, the Byzantine model for political and state structures
in the Slavic and Romanian worlds.
A space of Latinity, too, that emerged from the provincial horizon of
Rome. It gave birth to the Latinity of the “Second Rome” – called
Byzantium – with many echoes in the field of politics, arts, and
literature, and to an imperial ideology and classicizing Byzantine
rhetoric, in that ethnic and cultural island of the Balkans – a king of
old and fragmentary “Romania” – preserved in the Balkan memory
since the medieval “Kingdom of Bulgarians and Vlachs” through the
“Aromanians” of today.
Lastly, a post-totalitarian space, covering much of the area. Here civil
society is improving itself in a rather slow but positive way, after
the momentous changes of 1989-1990. It has inherited a part of
15
16
FOREWORD
the nationalist tradition of the Nineteenth Century, with many
nuances that vary from country to country, in some cases reaching
a climax in terms of a national idea as in the case of “Greater
Serbia“ – the results of which are evident in recent events in former
Yugoslavia.
Research on the civilization of Southeastern Europe, with its natural
extension toward Central Europe and Russia, remains one of the major
aims of humanist interdisciplinary studies devoted to this dramatic
contemporary world. The region is a place of modern conflicts over
sometimes planetary issues, a place of uncommon religious tolerance in
the past, a place where, almost three thousand years ago, the European
continent was spiritually born.
I.
Imperial Ideology and Classicizing Rhetoric
in Byzantine Historical Writing
NICOLAE-ŞERBAN TANAŞOCA
A. PRELIMINARY REMARKS
Byzantine historical writing provides researchers with a vast field of
investigation useful for obtaining a professional knowledge of Byzantine
culture and civilization. At the same time, it stimulates researchers to
think fruitfully about the condition and the limits of general historical
knowledge as well as about the position of the historian in a given society,
Byzantine society in this case. Up until now, this field of investigation has
not been sufficiently exploited for a number of objective reasons. Neither
Byzantine historical writing, nor indeed, the entire corpus of Byzantine
literary production has been the object of high quality publications
produced according to the standards of modern philology. There is a need
for monographs that are focused on the intellectual and political
characteristics of Byzantine historians. There is also a need for scholarly
studies about the world that these historians, each one in his or her own
way, described in their writings. The necessary work tools are also lacking
(dictionaries, grammars, glossaries, and thesauri of historical devices and
figures of speech) needed to decode the mysteries of Byzantine
historiographic and literary activity.
On the other hand, some rare attempts have been made to go beyond
the usual approach that has been (predominantly philological or a
reflection of the perspective of criticism of sources of this corpus of
historical writing) rightly considered to be one of the richest and most
interesting aspects of Byzantine creativity.
Very little, for instance, has been written about the Byzantine
historiographic method and outlook, about the Byzantine philosophy of
history, or about the aesthetic consciousness of Byzantine historians. For
this reason, contemporary information about Byzantine historical writing
and judgements as to its scientific and literary value are dominated by
prejudices and commonplace phrases borrowed from older conceptions of
Byzantine studies. Under their burden, the distinct outlines of various
personalities who illustrated this historical writing are sometimes blurred,
the connections between it and Byzantine life or the philosophical, literary,
and political ideas in different stages of the history of Byzantium are not
always visible or understandable, while Byzantine historical writing as a
whole is belittled as a cultural phenomenon and is viewed in most cases as
only a source of historical information.
17
18
N.-Ş. TANAŞOCA
In recent years, a strong tendency in favour of the renewal of studies
focusing on Byzantine historical writing as well as on the Byzantine world
and civilization in general has come into being. Increased objectivity, along
with increased efforts directed at interpreting Byzantine historical writing
as an intriguing cultural phenomenon in and of itself, as an original
expression of a well-individualized society, has cast a new light on some of
its less known aspects and features. Increased understanding has
eliminated a number of formerly held scholarly outlooks and tentative
conclusions.
An example is the way in which Herbert Hunger (1978) abandoned the
old, rigid classification of the corpus of Byzantine historical writing as one
composed of histories and of chronicles, imposed by Karl Krumbacher at
the end of the Nineteenth Century, choosing instead to bring together in
one cultural compartment all historical works and to stress the common
features of all of the so-called histories and chronicles of the same epoch.
How impressed the reader is today by the work and personality of John
Skylitzes now that his historical writings have been belatedly disinterred
from the alluvia of George Kedrenos’s compilation and published for the
first time in a scholarly publication series by Johannes Thurn. Equally
refreshing has been Gyula Moravcsik’s attempt (1966), to reveal and to
characterize the classicism of Byzantine historical writing, that is, its
permanence as related to the cultural style of the entire Byzantine
intellectual creation. Finally, to give one more example, the research
undertaken by such scholars as Rosario Anastasi (1969) or J. Ljubarsky
has been helpful in bringing about a better understanding of the
historiographic originality of such a Byzantine historian as Michael Psellos,
both in terms of his historical philosophy and of his method and writing
technique.
On a different occasion, the author (1979a) undertook a vast
lexicographic survey of the erudition of the language of Byzantine historical
writing between the Sixth and the Tenth Centuries. His aim was to make a
contribution to the elucidation of a problem in linguistic history related to
Byzantine vocabulary, that of Latinisms. He then drew up a complete
répertoire of words of Latin origin and of their Greek derivatives as existing
in the language of Byzantine historians who lived and wrote during that
period. On the same occasion, the author sketched a few general remarks
as to the value and the stylistic role of Latinisms in Byzantine literature,
particularly in historical writing.
In what follows, this problem is evoked, but from a different angle, i.e.,
that of the specificity of the language of the historian and of his ideological
conditioning. By looking at what became of the Latinisms used by
Byzantine authors of histories and chronicles between the Sixth and the
Tenth Centuries, one can attempt to define the twofold conditioning –
rhetorical and ideological – of Latin, as well as the way it became
integrated into the evolving cultural and ideological style of Byzantium.
The age in question is that of the formation of the classic Byzantine
civilization that flourished in the Tenth Century, during the period of “the
IMPERIAL IDEOLOGZ AND CLASSICIYING RHETORIC
19
first Byzantine humanism“ (Paul Lemerle, 1971) that was nurtured by the
so-called Macedonian Dynasty (867-1056).
This approach to Byzantine historical writing is in its turn an effort in
favour of the renewal of methods in the movement of ideas in current
Byzantinology. The author hopes to provide a solid basis for research by
limiting himself to Latinisms of the Sixth through Tenth Centuries and by
making use of the results of a very thorough analytical investigation. An
opening up to a synthesis was encouraged by other research activities on
Byzantine ideology covering exactly the same time span. A recent example
of this type of renovating research was that of Gilbert Dagron (1969) who
studied the formation of Byzantium and of the Byzantine mentality.
Another encouraging element was the fresh impetus of activities focusing
on the characterization of the language of historians.
A principal impetus for these activities was provided by the session
debates during the XXth World Congress of Historical Sciences that was
held from 10 to 17 August 1980, in Bucharest. This study, therefore, takes
advantage, on the one hand, of the progress of Byzantinology, and on the
other hand, of developments related to the theory of history.
B. BYZANTINE HISTORICAL WRITING BETWEEN THE SIXTH AND THE
TENTH CENTURIES
For Byzantine historical literature, the age between the Sixth and the
Tenth Centuries is critically important and very rich in achievement.
During this period, the classic types of Byzantine historical writing were
established: the contemporary history, the universal chronicle, the
historical poem in verses which in most cases are encomiastic, the
historical encyclopaedia structured on various topics, and the historical
pamphlet, a borderline genre, falling between history and fiction. At this
time also, both prose and epic poetry develop their own (specifically
Byzantine) styles that mature in the Tenth Century during the Macedonian
Dynasty. This evolution toward the establishment of an original Byzantine
style closely accompanied the processes of crystallization of a Byzantine
classical political ideology which the writing of history was called upon to
disseminate and to serve.
The Sixth and the Tenth Centuries, which delimit the long phase of
development of Byzantine historical writing with which this chapter deals,
were times of intense and varied production, centuries of great intellectual
effervescence and of original creation in all the fields of intellectual activity.
The Seventh, Eighth, and Ninth Centuries are not as relevant, from a
historiographic perspective, as is the Tenth Century, because these three
centuries did not give rise to very many written texts having a genuinely
historiographic character. The period was one of domestic unrest, i.e., the
fierce controversies about the cult of icons and of incessant clashes with
foreign invaders: Slavs, Avars, Bulgars, Arabs, which brought about a
decline of Byzantine culture, a spectacular diminishing of the strength and
20
N.-Ş. TANAŞOCA
the world prestige of the Empire, and also, for a while, a territorial
constriction.
Equally important is the fact that a fundamental change in the basic
nature of the Byzantine State and of Byzantine culture, i.e., Hellenization,
occurred during this period. This change is all the more relevant in that
the age itself was a “troubled” and “obscure” age, a time when the Empire
went through a crisis and had to restrict its territory to regions inhabited
predominantly by Greek-speaking peoples. If during Justinian’s golden
century the Empire was still bilingual and made equal use of Latin and
Greek, if it was still a truly Roman Empire, by the Tenth Century, after the
crisis, the Constantinople Empire was a purely Greek state in which only
the Greek language was used. Few contacts with Latin culture and
civilization were preserved, and the Empire set itself apart from the old
Roman state (although continuing it to a certain extent) and of the Latin
language and the Western world, from which it would be fully separated in
the next century, after the great religious schism of 1054 between Rome
and Constantinople.
It is necessary to mention, in passing, the principal Byzantine
historians and chroniclers who were active between the Sixth and the
Tenth centuries. It is they who actually represent the documentary basis
for this study.
In the Sixth (Justinian’s) Century, Byzantine historical writing could
boast several high-caliber personalities. It was the period of Procopius of
Caesarea (d. 565) who wrote about Justinian’s wars and constructions.
Procopius was also the author of a pamphlet, titled The Secret History, that
was directed against the very same emperor. Procopius, who is considered
to have been the first great Byzantine historian, wrote in an archaizing
language that was closely linked to ancient classical historiographic
traditions. A lawyer by profession and thoroughly acquainted with Latin,
he was the typical official court historian.
To the same literary and historiographic category belong Agathias of
Myrina (c.532-c.580), whose intention it was to follow Procopius, and
Menander Protector, the continuator of Agathias of Myrina. John of
Epiphaneia, Secretary to the Antiochian Patriarch, was the author of
certain works about the Byzantine-Persian wars and is also linked to
ancient traditions, but was at the same time strongly influenced by
Eastern culture and was much more attached to Christianity than his
contemporaries were.
A very interesting Sixth Century personality was that of John Lawrence
of Lydos (Lydia) who wrote a number of scholarly texts about the Roman
world. John Lawrence was a typical representative of Justinian’s Byzantine
public servants, a keen supporter of ancient culture, and a fierce advocate
of turning Latin into the official language of the Byzantine state.
In the same Sixth Century, one also meets John Malalas, the author of
the first universal Byzantine chronicle, a work that set the basis for a new
and fully original historiographic genre. Also a lawyer by training, Malalas
wrote Chronographia (a universal chronicle) on world historical events
IMPERIAL IDEOLOGZ AND CLASSICIYING RHETORIC
21
occurring between Genesis and the author’s own period. Written in a
language closely resembling the spoken tongue, the chronicle refers to all
sorts of events, political, military, religious, as well natural disasters,
mirabilia, and other strange things. This work was very widely read. This
type of historical writing would be widely cultivated in Byzantium.
Frequently chronicles would be compiled in order to bring recent periods
up-to-date.
So far as the Seventh Century is concerned, only three monuments of
historical writing have survived. The first of these is Theophylactus of
Simocatta’s History, that was dedicated to the rule of Emperor Mauricius.
It is an archaizing work, characterized by a fastidious rhetorical style. It
opened a new phase in the evolution of Byzantine historical writing as its
contents are more dominated by religiosity and political conformism than,
say, the work of Procopius. The second high caliber historical text of the
Seventh Century is the Chronicon Paschale, an anonymous chronography
written along Malalean lines, in which there are vast compilations of the
work of John Malalas. Finally, the third historiographic monument of the
century is Georgios Pisides’s versified work. It consists of three epic
encomiastic poems devoted to Emperor Heraclius, all pervaded by religious
fervour and a literary archaizing classicism.
The only known historian in the Eighth Century is Georgios Synkellos,
a high ecclesiastic servant in Constantinople, author of a universal
chronicle. He did not have time to carry his writing beyond the year, 284,
the date of the accession of Emperor Diocletian.
Three historical works have survived from the Ninth Century. The first,
written by an anonymous author, is entitled The Life of John the Armenian
and can be viewed as either a contemporary history or as a fragment of a
universal history in which the innovation (which will be typically Byzantine
later on) was the determination and the justification of the political
attitude of the author in theological terms. It is a clearly anti-iconoclastic
writing.
The second work is the Universal Chronicle, by Theophanes the
Confessor, a typically Byzantine (and classical) chronicle relying on a large
number of sources – the works of predecessors – mainly made accessible
by means of the compilation of a previous chronicler that is now lost.
Theophanes was a monk of aristocratic origin who was politically aware
and religiously involved along anti-iconoclastic lines. He wrote in a very
accessible language for his less cultivated fellow monks and was well
acquainted with (and interested in) events in Eastern Byzantium, which,
all in all, were typical features of the intellectual life of that time.
The third Chronography of the Ninth Century belongs to Georgios
Hamartolos. It is a compilation of events of world history up to the year
847. Only its final part is original. A typical Byzantine monk, the author
turns religious values into fundamental criteria for the choice and
classification of historical raw material. His work is deliberately written in
plain language, and he is manifestly opposed (on religious grounds) to
those who cultivated the traditions of ancient Pagan rhetoric. Georgios
22
N.-Ş. TANAŞOCA
Hamartolos’s Chronography circulated widely in the Orthodox world until
very late, both in the original and in Slavonic translation.
A rich corpus of historical writings came into being in the Tenth
Century at the time of “the first Byzantine humanism“ or of the “Byzantine
Renaissance“, under the patronage of the Macedonian Dynasty. The best
cultivators of the ancient rhetorical traditions, restored in a moderate spirit
and in good taste, with no archaizing excesses, were Joseph Genesios,
Simeon Magister (author of a universal chronicle), John Kaminatos (author
of a narrative of the conquest of Salonika by the Arabs), Leo the Deacon (a
historian of events occurring at the end of the Tenth Century), but
especially Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus, himself both an emperor and
an erudite author of encyclopaedic historical works concerning almost all
aspects of state life. Finally, the continuators of the work of Theophanes
the Confessor should be mentioned, authors of a corpus of chronicles
about Byzantine historical events between 813 and 961. They continued
Theophanes’s work in an effort undertaken at the initiative and even with
the contribution of Constantine Porphyrogenitus that resulted in a
representative text for the moderate classicism of the Macedonian
Renaissance.
In short, Byzantine historiography between the Sixth and the Tenth
centuries was produced by a very large number of authors of various social
backgrounds and ranks in Byzantine society. From the petty bureaucrat to
the Emperor, from the humble and fanatical monk to the cultivated, high
ranking servant of the Patriarchate who was deeply involved in court life,
from the imperial servant of Western origin, to the Anatolian aristocrat - all
Byzantine social categories had their say so far as the writing of history
was concerned.
The intellectual backgrounds of these authors of historical writings
varied a great deal. Some of them had graduated from Byzantine law
schools and had acquired a good command of the Latin language and
culture. Others had been educated in the Greek ecclesiastic environment,
especially in monasteries, and were dominated by a narrow confessional
vision of the world and of its history. There were also some intimate
connoisseurs of Eastern cultures (which influenced them all), as well as
intellectuals with backgrounds in Greek or Greco-Roman classical
philosophy, prone to a certain philosophical scepticism.
The styles of these historians varied. Some wrote in an archaizing Greek
of ancient inspiration, others in a language close to the currently used one
of the period; some emulated ancient historiographic models; others stuck
to the chronicle pattern established by Malalas; some tried to be as
personal as possible in what they wrote; others went in for mere
compilation.
A certain diversity can be identified in the political and even the
ideological commitments of these writers. Some of them were legitimists
who worshipped the Emperor and whose conformism was rigorous and
unshakeable. Others were free spirits, who expressed certain reservations
(if not open hostility) toward the central power.
IMPERIAL IDEOLOGZ AND CLASSICIYING RHETORIC
23
Obviously, Byzantine historical writing between the Sixth and the Tenth
Centuries is not a uniform and homogeneous bloc. It includes different
voices reflecting distinct personalities as well as various trends of thought.
However, there are many elements of unity and similitude among the
various works, and within the whole Byzantine tradition of historical
writing, one can identify a certain air of unity and homogeneity.
This unity is visible at two levels. There is, first of all, the stylistic level
at which a degree of unity is conferred by the Byzantine classicizing vision
of literary writing and by the existence of certain canons concerning the
structure of written work and of phrase modulation. Then there is the
ideological level, in its broad sense, at which unity is conferred by a certain
Byzantine vision of man, society, the world, and history. Byzantine
historiographic conceptions and methods were also unitary and stable
from the Sixth to the Tenth Centuries. Historians feel they are taking part
in a common work throughout the centuries, hence the practice of
continuity in the cases of a number of chronicles which, interrupted at a
certain point by their initial authors, are taken up by successors.
Byzantine historians did not know how to innovate in regard to the truth of
the past or in regard to the discovery of new sources. The past was not
investigated; however, its memory was passed on from one generation to
the next.
The literary diversity of Byzantine historiography has to be understood
mainly as a variety of genres, types of writing, and literary forms permitted
and defined by very strict literary canons, either inherited from the rhetoric
of late ancient times or based upon Byzantine rhetoric. Theoretically,
personal originality was neither an aim in itself, nor a source of diversity
for the various works written by Byzantine authors. Even less legitimate
was ideological originality.
Ideology was considered to be unique and eternal. It was the ideology of
Christian political Hellenism, as it was called, developed in principle in
keeping with certain basic elements: the divine origin of the imperial
power; the “symphonic” association between the Emperor and the
Patriarch, between the State and the Church, in ruling over the fate of
society through the mutual support that the lay and the religious
authorities gave each other, in spite of their different types of sovereignty.
There was the oecumenical, universal nature of the imperial power held by
the Romei’s Autocrat, the one and only legitimate heir to the Roman
Empire and the missionary character of an empire intended to Christianize
and to civilize the whole world.
Since history was expected to glorify the successes and to truthfully
narrate the temporary failures of the Empire in the carrying out of its
apostolic and civilizing mission, the differences between its narrators could
only be personal or related to the evaluation of a certain moment or
personality. But innovation in terms of the (immutable) general ideological
principles was out of the question.
Despite the variety of studies comparing the works of Byzantine
historical writing, the corpus can be considered as having a unitary
24
N.-Ş. TANAŞOCA
personality, of being a well individualized hypostasis of historicism, with all
its specific features. This view is supported by the reality that Byzantine
historiography was dominated by strict rhetorical principles to the extent
that the writing of history represented a literary effort governed by rigid
ideological principles and that it was propaganda. There were, without a
doubt, both a single Byzantine historiographic language and a single
Byzantine historiographic ideology, both of which the present study will
attempt to define in a satisfactory way.
C. LATINISMS IN BYZANTINE HISTORICAL WRITING BETWEEN THE
SIXTH AND THE TENTH CENTURIES
The presence of a significant number of words of Latin origin in the
vocabularies of Byzantine historians from the Sixth to the Tenth Centuries
is a characteristic feature of the language of Byzantine historical writing of
the time. At the same time, Latinisms constitute a differentiating note of
Byzantine historiography in relation to both its classical models, to which,
in most cases, it adhered very closely, and to the languages of the fields of
the Byzantine culture of the periods in question. They also equally
represent an element of rapprochement between the language of Byzantine
historiography and that currently spoken by the Byzantine people that
included a high number of Latinisms. Therefore, an analysis of the literary
and ideological meaning of the ways in which Latinisms penetrated the
language of Byzantine historians serves as a good way to describe the
specificity of this language.
From the Sixth to the Tenth Centuries, Byzantine historical writing
made use of a number of Latin words drawn from the vocabulary of the
state apparatus. The principal Byzantine offices and ranks had Latin
names, as follows: imperium, augoustos, comes, senatores, patrikios,
illoustrios, koubikoularios, magistratos, offikia, skrinia, praiphektos,
praitorion, noumerarios, primikerios, vestes, asekretis, taboularios, kyaistor,
aktouarios, etc. Many terms were derived from the military vocabulary:
exerkitos, milites, matrikes, hypokamison, armilausion, kampagos,
kampagion, loros, korte, aplikton, kastron, metaton, kourson, kourseus, etc.
Also, the vocabulary pertaining to the imperial liturgy was
predominantly Latin. It expressed an adjusted form of the imperial cult
that lasted throughout the history of Byzantium and included the
following: modiolon, sensos (sentzos), poulpiton, kamelaukion, kaisarikion,
toupha, paganos, pallion, fibla, prokensos, prokinseuein, opsikion,
moutatorion, kitation, kiteuo, kortina, vela, etc. The same could also be said
of the ovations in Latin that were recited at the Byzantine court for the
imperial glory until very late in the history of the Byzantine Empire.
Examples of Latinisms in the vocabulary of social relations and law
include the following: phamilia, phalseuma, kodix, edikton, indoulgentia,
exkouseia, moultos, annona, kataboukoulon.
One category of Latinisms that was quite well represented in historical
writing is found in the vocabulary of international relations. It includes
IMPERIAL IDEOLOGZ AND CLASSICIYING RHETORIC
25
Byzantine names for similar foreign institutions (magistroi, domestikoi for
the Persians), institutions such as royalty (rex), and traditional Roman
names concerning relationships with foreigners (phoideratoi, pakton,
pakteuo, traktaizo, trakteuo). Certain Latinisms to be found in historical
writing are also identifiable as having been derived from the religious
vocabulary: antimission, manoualion, doumnikalion, kellai, sekreta, etc.
The vocabulary of chronology was dominated by Latin elements,
particularly during the first centuries of Byzantium. Not only were all the
names of the months in the Byzantium calendar of Latin origin (ianouarios,
febrouarios, martios, aprillios, maios, etc), but so were also certain
elements of old chronology such as nonai and eidoi, as well as more recent
elements, such as indiktion. There were many Latin words in the
vocabulary of metrology: milion, kentenarion, follis, denarion, modios,
monetarios, etc. The vocabulary of navigation and transportation also
included Latinisms that are frequently represented in historical literature:
agrarion, barka, klassikos, veredos, veredarios, karroucha, and lektikion.
Finally, Byzantine historical writing between the Sixth and the Tenth
centuries has quite a number of Latin or Roman source terms in the field
of town planning (regeones, phoros, strata, kinsterna, vivarion),
architecture (palation, porta, skala, portikos), lighting and heating systems
(kandella, kandelabron, karbounon), food (makelles, makellarios, lardi,
mouston, bouttis), and race courses (velon, velarion, venetoi, albatoi,
notarioi, bigarioi).
The penetration of Latinisms into the language of Byzantine historical
writing owed very little (as in the case of the learned antiquarian and book
salesman, John of Lydos) to the Latin sources used by writers in their
aspirations to evoke, in very precise terms, a different type of world. The
vast majority, of terms of Latin origin used by Byzantine historians are not
Fremdwörter, archaic, or foreign words, but rather Lehnwörter, i.e.,
belonging to Byzantine civilization, however borrowed and assimilated by
the historians to designate the world in which they moved and that they
described.
The appeal to Latinisms can be explained in terms of the need to
faithfully depict Byzantine realities. These Latin words were used currently
in Byzantium. Their occurrence in historical writing resulted from the
effect of the spoken tongue upon this type of writing. If one were to
measure comparatively the frequency of and the forms under which
Latinisms occur in historical writings and in other texts of that time, one
might conclude that such writings only reflect, to a minimal extent, the
richness of the Latin influence upon Byzantine vocabulary. From this
perspective, suffice it to compare historical texts rich in Latinisms, such as
the Histories of Procopius or the Chronographia of Theophanes the
Confessor, to certain very technical writings like Strategikon or the
Eparch’s Book, by Pseudo-Mauricius, to immediately realize that, out of
the huge number of Latin words currently used in Byzantium, historians
only chose the strict minimum. This situation occurred because of reasons
26
N.-Ş. TANAŞOCA
of aesthetic, rhetorical, and historiographic outlook, reasons that will be
discussed below.
It is also necessary to briefly point out the mistake made by some
researchers who, relying on Byzantine historical texts, drew wrong general
conclusions about the Latin influence upon Byzantine Greek. Because of
the very nature of the literary genre intended to reflect real events,
historical writing was forced to resort to Latin words. On the other hand,
given its aesthetic role, it had to avoid as much as possible the so-called
“vulgar” (commonly used) Latin words. It is obviously and equally true that
the high incidence of Latinisms in precisely those spheres of vocabulary
that were linked to the direct influence of the state is not a mere
coincidence. It actually reflects, at a secondary level, the situation of the
first level of the current speech. Byzantine Greek was, of course, mainly
subjected to the invasion of Latin words related to Roman civilization, after
the Greek speaking regions of Europe and Asia had been incorporated into
the Roman Empire, and their populations, associated with its historical
fate.
The Romanization of the Greek vocabulary was the result of a complex
historical process that began with the first contacts between Greeks and
Romans, reaching its apogée during the Roman domination of the Greek
regions that were incorporated into the Roman state. Here the Empire
imposed its civilization by force of arms and also by superior organizational
capabilities. The typical example of the “Romanization” of the Greek world
is the replacement of the ethnic name of the Greeks, Hellenes, with
Romaioi, i.e., Romans.
Although, in the beginning, the new names had political significance,
defining the citizenship of ethnic Greeks, the word, Romaioi, established
itself with the victory of Christianity that turned the latter into a state
religion. The designation, Hellene, that became a synonym for Pagan, was
abandoned. But at the same time, the Romanization of the Greek
vocabulary was a reflex of adjustment to the vigorous reality of the Greek
language and civilization to the new conditions created by Roman policy, a
means of survival for Hellenism, and ultimately, an indication of its true
strength. The partial Romanization of the Greek language and mentality
was the first step in the development of Byzantinism as a new phase in the
history of Hellenism.
A thorough contemporary explanation of the process whereby ancient
Hellenism was turned into Byzantine Hellenism, a process in which
“Romanization” played a very important role, has been provided as a result
of the research of Gilbert Dagron (1969) the gist of which is summarized
below. According to this reputed historian of the origins of Byzantium, it is
necessary to abandon the outdated standpoints of such scholars as
Ludwig Hahn (1906) and Henrik Zilliacus (1935) who claim that a fierce
clash occurred between Latin and Greek during the Late Empire.
It seems instead that Greek peacefully replaced Latin. During the period
of the Antonines, a balance was struck between Latin and Greek as
instruments of expression. The balance gave rise to a collective
IMPERIAL IDEOLOGZ AND CLASSICIYING RHETORIC
27
consciousness and a relatively unitary Greco-Roman civilization. The two
languages had already agreed on respective fields of supremacy. Latin was
to be the language of the politeia (the language of the state), while Greek
belonged to the paideia, the disinterested, cosmopolitan, and rhetorical
culture. But then, Greek gradually took over functions related to the
language of politics. With the help of Christianity, a time came when Greek
would be the language of the Eastern Church, a guarantee of the idea of
state unity, and the creator of a new doctrine of the legitimacy of state
power that would impose itself in the long run. This language transformed
itself into the expressive instrument of a new form of political organization,
late Hellenism, the forerunner of Byzantinism. The effect of this process
was a certain Romanization of the Greek language spoken in the Basileia
ton Rhomaion, “the Empire of the Romans”.
At the same time, there was in Byzantium a purist and “nationalistic”
Greek language, hostile to the flow of Latinisms. It was the tool of a
rhetorical culture that had remained faithful to ancient Hellenistic
traditions. It is here that one should look for the origins of Byzantine
“diglot”. In the meantime, in the Western world, Latin also assumed new
roles, becoming a language for the paideia.
At this point, the balance between the two languages was upset, and
each of them started to be the expressive instrument of a distinct culture
and civilization. As a result, Byzantine culture and civilization come to
harbour a Greek language which was Romanized, vulgar, and open for
innovation and Latin influences (and which gradually became the present
day neo-Greek), as well as an Atticizing “pure” Greek, used by archaizing
scholars who were unwilling to accept any foreign influences.
The Latin words found in the works of Byzantine writers of the Sixth to
Tenth Centuries belong to a vocabulary particularly linked to the
civilization and the influence of the state and mark with a Romanic seal
the Byzantine Greek vocabulary. These words had penetrated the Greek
language many years earlier, through a process that has already been
mentioned. In the Sixth and Seventh Centuries, this process of
Romanization had largely come to an end. An analysis of the Latin words
used by Byzantine historians does not focus on neologisms, but rather on
those vulgarisms – or “Byzantinisms“ – introduced by writers using the
traditional language of historical writing expressed in classical Greek.
First perceived as foreign terms, if not for the Greek language, at least
for the artistic register, these words became increasingly familiar and
gradually lost their initially strange sound. Through derivation and
composition, they entered into the structure of certain new Byzantine
words which sounded increasingly Greek (for instance, koubikoularios
becomes spatharkoubikoularios; magistros turns into protomagistros;
prokensos changes into prokinseuein, etc).
In an ever Hellenized vocabulary and by virtue of certain typically Greek
tendencies in favour of motivation and homogeneity (André Mirambel,
1959), certain Latinisms even suffered a semantic degradation when used
in the writing of history. They lost their official or technical character and
28
N.-Ş. TANAŞOCA
became civilization-terms in current use. Through the effect of institutional
reforms, on the other hand, very many Latinisms ceased to be used, a
process documented by the historical writing that occurred over this
period. This process mainly affected the official Latin terms designating the
emperor and the imperial family – augustos or kaisar – terms that are
replaced with basileus as of the Seventh Century.
Latinisms found in Sixth to Tenth Century Byzantine historical writing
(or at least most of them) are, therefore, words in common use in
Byzantium as a result of the ways in which the Hellenistic world adopted
Roman civilization. They were already part of the Byzantine vocabulary by
the Sixth Century and were preserved in parallel with the Roman political
tradition as a legacy from the past and also as evidence of the Roman
legitimacy of the empire. These words belong chiefly to the spheres of
vocabulary connected to (or directly influenced by) state life. Their
occurrence in texts is not a result of the influence of the sources on the
language of historians, but rather an effect of the pressures bought to bear
by the common tongue upon scholarly language.
D. RHETORIC AND IDEOLOGY IN BYZANTINE LITERATURE
In order to better highlight the literary and ideological significance of the
use of Latinisms in Byzantine historical writing, it is necessary to sketch,
in a few lines, the theoretical framework of the problem of Latinisms as
conceived by Byzantine authors, in other words, to attempt to give a
definition of the theoretical principles governing historical writing (a
literary genre at that time) according to which writers were supposed to
solve the practical matter of harmonizing their language with the realities
that they described. An attempt was also made to define the ideological
motivation for Byzantine literary doctrine and for Byzantine rhetoric.
Byzantine rhetoric was a direct continuation of late ancient rhetoric
from which it borrowed the principles of literary practice and the criteria of
critical evaluation for various types of works. Greek literature in the
Hellenistic age and especially during the period of Roman domination had
drawn up a classicizing vision of literary writings. As a defensive response
to Asian influences, the First Century B.C. had witnessed the
establishment of a new doctrine on mimesis, literary language, and style.
At the center of artistic imitation that was in principle conceived according
to Aristotelian norms, one no longer finds reality, but classical literature,
the great models of which were drawn from the golden age of ancient
literature. These models were carefully catalogued and minutely ranked in
keeping with the genres to which they were related (each genre having its
own style and language). They provided authors of treatises with their
basic norms and dogmas concerning literary practice. On the other hand,
the classic literary and linguistic ideal made the writers move away from
daily realities and from the spoken language, thus favouring the
appearance and the development of a bookish literature written in a
IMPERIAL IDEOLOGZ AND CLASSICIYING RHETORIC
29
pedantic and archaizing language, the vocabulary of which was
manneristic and artificial.
These tendencies in ancient critical thought, that had been supported
and promoted by such rhetoricians as Caecilius of Kaleacte, Dionysius of
Halicarnassus, and the unknown author of the Treatise on the Sublime
were appropriated and continued by those authors who laid the basis of
Byzantine rhetorical education: Hermogenes of Tarsus, Aphtonios of
Antioch, and by such grammarians as Dyscolos and Herodian.
Certain fathers of the Christian Church, who themselves had been the
pupils of the last Pagan rhetoricians, like for instance, the famous
Libanios, strengthened with their authority the classicizing tendencies in
late Greek critical and aesthetic thinking. Such was the case of Basil of
Caesarea, Gregory of Nazianz, Gregory of Nyssa, and John Chrysostom,
some of whom even taught rhetoric themselves. For such men, the
appreciation of literary art and its understanding from the angle of the
rhetorician, that is, from a formal perspective, was not simply the result of
their scholarly training. It was also a means whereby they could
distinguish between artistic expression and ideas and thus fructify, from a
Christian point of view and in critical and selective ways, the cultural
inheritance of Pagan antiquity. By this means, they managed to achieve an
unmistakable synthesis of Christianity and Hellenism, one that was theirs
only and formed the basis of Byzantine culture. Classical and even
classicizing rhetoric thus contributed to the preservation of the cultural
legacy of ancient times, but at the same time annexed the more recently
appearing corpus of Christian literature, with all its Judeo-Hellenistic
traditions, mainly represented by the Holy Scriptures. The artistic and
aesthetic evaluation of this legacy was undertaken through the same
classicizing vision of literary writing, while in terms of literary
interpretation, the critical concepts and criteria had been used previously
to appreciate ancient Pagan works.
As one can conclude from a study of many of the treatises written by
Byzantine authors and from exegeses found in other written works,
Byzantine literary criticism was not very innovative. Even some of its
outstanding spirits – such as Theodore Metochites in the Thirteenth and
the Fourteenth Centuries (1260-1332) – only succeeded in formulating one
principle of literary activity: the transformation of obsequious imitation of
both Pagan classic antiquity and Christian classic literature into creative
emulation. But even this emulation was expected to conform to the
rigorous limits of the classicizing framework, without allowances for any
innovations in terms of genres, any salutary inspiration from real life, or
any appeal to the expressive resources of the spoken tongue. The major
ambition of a Byzantine writer was to seal, with a personal style, a number
of very elaborate works that were written in an Attic cabinet Greek and
burdened by erudition.
For a long time, it was believed that Byzantine authors did nothing but
humbly imitate the writing of ancient times because of their cultural
limitations, their scholarly and obsessive love of classical antiquity, and
30
N.-Ş. TANAŞOCA
their preference for sophisticated and elegant expression. In other words,
this preference on the part of Byzantine authors was attributed to their
traditional and classicizing aesthetic education that was favoured and at
the same time hindered by the permanent contact of the Byzantine Empire
(unlike in the case of the West) with classical literature and the traditions
of ancient education. An attempt was also made to explain the huge
distance between this style and the requirements of modern taste (inspired
by the Renaissance) in terms of such factors as the Christian faith, prone
to pushing Byzantine authors away from the realities of daily life so that
they might focus their interests on “the world beyond”. At a literary level,
this same religion forced these authors to copy the language and the style
of the Fathers of the Church.
According to the same explanation, another factor could have been the
special psychology of the Byzantine élite, the fact that its members were
conceited and tended to overrate themselves as successors of the ancient
Hellenes who had produced the high cultural values of ancient times.
Finally, a third possible explanation for this style was Byzantine
obsequiousness toward an imperial power that intellectuals attempted to
flatter by a panegyrical and encomiastic use of the highest and most
refined forms of elegant expression inherited from classical antiquity.
Although partially justified, such explanations seem, nowadays, to be
outdated and even slightly naïve. Contemporary scholars like Herbert
Hunger (1978), Paul Lemerle (1967 and 1971), Hans-Georg Beck (1952),
Emanoil Kriaras (1966), and Victor Lazarev (1967), were able through
research, to elucidate both the historical and the cultural meaning of
Byzantine rhetoric. This rhetoric is a general feature of all Byzantine
cultural and spiritual manifestations. It is a cultural style equally easy to
find in aulic ceremonial liturgy, in Byzantine painting with its strictly
coded norms in rhetorical terms, in Byzantine science conceived in the
same rhetorical, scholarly, and bookish manner as literature, in a not very
original philosophy, focused on formal aspects, and even in Byzantine
theology, in which H. G. Beck (1952) discovered a truly theological,
rhetorical, and formalist classicism in its concreteness and in its
spontaneous and personal achievements that lacked any links with
Byzantine religious life.
The style is that of a society wishing to give the world (and itself) the
illusion of absolute steadiness, of total immobility in the forms of the past,
the only forms deemed to be legitimate. It is the style of a society that is
conservative and traditionalist par excellence. The ultimate explanations
for such a situation undoubtedly need to be discovered in the agrarian
predominance and in the lack of industrial and economic development
relying on market-focused production. The fundamental features of the
social and economic basis of the Byzantine world were very different, in
this respect, from those of the Western world.
At the same time, this classicizing cultural style was suitable for the
typically Eastern nature of a Byzantine society that was hierarchically
organized and ruled in a centralist way. In Byzantium, society was
IMPERIAL IDEOLOGZ AND CLASSICIYING RHETORIC
31
structured as if on a number of steps, the highest step culminating at the
level of the Emperor who embodied perfection and represented the divinity
on whose behalf he governed. Each step had its mission, its legal and
social status, its political meaning, a language and readings matching its
concerns, and suitable clothing.
Movement from one step to another was possible, provided one
observed a number of rules. There had to be a certain order – taxis – in
everything, and everything had to be governed with a certain wisdom –
oikonomia – according to Hélène Ahweiler (1975). Culture was viewed as an
initiation into mysteries that would only be gradually revealed, and each
social step only gave access to its specifically permitted secrets.
Knowledge, in its turn, also implied order and wisdom. At its highest level,
the expression of truth had to remain hidden from those who were not of
this elect. For this reason, culture assumed different forms and styles, and
different cultural works had different degrees of accessibility. Rhetoric,
writing in an ancient language, and classicism were the means by which
the ungifted were denied access to a truth for which they were not
prepared and which was only meant for those who made adequate efforts
and resorted to a certain askesis (exercise) in order to earn the right to
perceive it.
But hierarchical structure was not only typical of Byzantine society.
Mankind and the world itself were also hierarchically structured. The
pinnacle of this world hierarchy could only be the Byzantine Empire.
Rhetoric and classicism provide Byzantine culture and literature with a
glamour and a mystery that called for respect from all outsiders to the
circles of Byzantine culture, just as the splendour of the Byzantine court
and its sophisticated ceremonial attracted respect and admiration from
barbarians.
In the spirit of this outlook, Byzantine writers observed certain literary
canons, among which (to remain within the sphere of literary vocabulary),
a number of rules about the choice and the use of words.
According to the standards of ancient rhetoric as understood in
Byzantium, word selection was never fortuitous. There were poetic and
non-poetic words as well as suitable or unsuitable words for each literary
genre and level of expression. Byzantine writers observed this pattern,
classifying words in terms of their capacity to serve various genres.
Emanoil Kriaras (1966), who devoted special attention to this topic,
succeeded in describing the attitudes of a variety of Byzantine authors over
the centuries and also their various ways of choosing and of classifying
words. For instance, in the vision of Joseph the Philosopher, who wrote a
Rhetorical Compendium, there are elegant words (kompsai lexeis) and
natural words (physikai). The former are suitable for rhetoric, the latter for
philosophy.
In his turn, Theodore Metochites criticized the use of popular, vulgar,
plain, and understandable words:
32
N.-Ş. TANAŞOCA
If you are so in love with the undisputed clarity of easy-to-grasp
popular expressions, why don’t you hurry to mix with all those
loungers at the crossroads; why don’t you take yourself faster to the
markets teeming with people? There will you find that language you
cherish so much, whose understanding is so easy! (in, Ihor
Ševčenko, 1962, pp. 202-203, 206).
This remark was Metochites’s answer to those who criticized his style,
which proves to be over-elaborate, verbose, and difficult to understand.
Elsewhere, the same Metochites offers the key, to which allusion was
previously made, to the ideological meanings of Byzantine rhetoric:
For well educated people, not for those made to wander in their
speech by ignorance, each thing has its own place: sometimes you
need to be explicit, at other times it’s preferable to solemnly amplify
your style and hide your thoughts from the common people’s
understanding, using artistic ornaments.... We assiduously observe
this principle..., even if it makes you crack with spite for a thousand
times, as you lack any gift of criticism from your cradle and have
never gone deep into the definitions and the laws of the artistic,
beautiful style! (in, Ihor Ševčenko, 1962, pp. 202-203).
The practical model to be followed by Byzantine writers in everything
related to word selection, style, and language was the classic text, the
“great” author of ancient times. Nikephoros Choumnos (end of the
Thirteenth Century) claimed that the touchstones for evaluating
contemporary writers should be Demosthenes, Plato, and Aelius Aristides:
If you want the salvation and glory of literature, if you wish to fully
commit yourself to sciences, then study the language of the great,
illustrious, ancient writers whom nobody could outrun. If you want
success, your words ought to be borrowed from the pure Attic
language, built according to this rule, truly and naturally matching
all things. (in, Jean-François Boissonade, Vol. 3, 1830, p. 360).
In addition to ancient writings, the Byzantine canon for perfect writers
also included Christian writings, primarily the Holy Scriptures, a reality
that obviously enriched the Byzantine literary vocabulary, giving it a note
of originality in comparison with that of antiquity. In a very significant
fragment, the same Choumnos allows writers to appeal to “the holy books”
and makes it a written recommendation: “just as ancient Greeks even
quote full passages from the poets, you can quote, if needed, from the
Scriptures and the holy books” (in, Boissonade, Vol. 3, p. 363). Even
Byzantine authors who themselves were perceived as being classical
underwent the same treatment, thus illustrating the persistence in
Byzantium of the methods recommended by the rhetoric of late antiquity,
as well as the enrichment of the inspirational material.
Characterized by a fidelity to the rhetoric of late antiquity that was
sometimes pushed to the verge of obsequiousness, Byzantine rhetoric
IMPERIAL IDEOLOGZ AND CLASSICIYING RHETORIC
33
came thereby to set literary norms recommending inspiration by antiquity
and the imitation of classic authors, but also inclusion of the canon of
Biblical and patristic literature. The value of Byzantine rhetoric goes far
beyond that of a mere epigonic prolongation of ancient Greek rhetoric. It
constitutes a typically Byzantine laboratory, with specific meanings
pertaining to a well-individualized cultural style, and can be explained by
the specificity of its ideological grounds. Through its most gifted
representatives, Byzantine literature managed to create original works,
applying rhetorical principles mainly inspired from the ancient model to a
linguistic material specific to Medieval Greek.
E. THE LANGUAGE AND LATINISMS OF BYZANTINE HISTORICAL
WRITING
According to Byzantine authors, who again, it should be stressed,
inherited an ancient vision of things, historical writing was a literary genre,
opus maxime oratorium. Therefore, the rhetorical and literary character of
historiography strictly conditioned the language of the Byzantine historian.
He thus observed all norms relating to practice and largely joined the
generally classicizing tendency of Byzantine literature in the cultural style
as has been analyzed above.
It would, of course, be fastidious to try to analyze all the aspects of the
classicism of Byzantine historical writing in a few pages. In a brief study
published a number of years ago, the Hungarian Byzantinist, Gyula
Moravcsik (1966) laid down the fundamental themes of such research in a
truly excellent book. Following in Moravcsik’s footsteps, it is possible, first
of all, to cite several effects of the classicizing tendencies of Byzantine
historians, in terms of language and writing, and then to focus on the
particular and highly significant aspects already brought up, namely the
meanings to be found in the use of Latinisms.
Regarding language and style, Byzantine historians imitated ancient
writers and chose role models. Some historians wrote in the manner of
Herodotus; others emulated Thucydides, Plutarch, or Polybius. Nevertheless,
model imitation went beyond questions of language and style. A discovery
was then made that the imitation of classic ancient historians could go so
far as the borrowing not only of words and phrases, but also of elements of
content, which obviously, also diminishes the verisimilitude and veracity of
the product as an accurate source.
Thus, in his Life of Basil I, the first of the Macedonian emperors,
Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus credits his forefather with the statement,
“We need money, nothing of what has to be done can be done without
money”, allegedly made when, upon mounting the throne, the new
emperor had found an empty treasury. The words in question are, instead,
a gnome apophantike, a “declarative generalization”, quoted as an example
in a textbook on rhetoric written by Aphtonios, as Romilly J. H. Jenkins
(1963) pointed out, and which can be found, in the Alexiade (in, Bernard
34
N.-Ş. TANAŞOCA
Leib, 1937, p. 59), at the point at which Anna Comnena attributes it to her
father.
The same author describes John Taronites, a Ninth Century eparch,
using the same words by which Theophylactus Simocattes, a Seventh
Century Byzantine “classic” historian, characterized the Sixth Century
quaestor, John. Byzantine historians not only credited the heroes in their
histories with fictitious speeches, according to the ancient model, but also
sometimes imitated “classical” texts found in the works of ancient
historians. As Vasile Grecu pointed out, the speech that Laonikos
Chalcocondyles attributed to Walachian prince Radu the Handsome (Radu
cel Frumos), was copied from Herodotus, while the speech attributed to the
Venetian, Victor Capella, (according to the same historian), is taken word
for word from Thucydides. Ernst Stein (1949) proved that, in his efforts to
equal that same Thucydides, Procopius of Caesarea ended the history of
each year of Justinian’s war against the Ostrogoths with the phrase “and
winter ended and with it the … year of the war [as] narrated by Procopius”,
except that Justinian’s war years ended in summer, not in winter.
Again, based on Thucydides’s famous description of the plague that
broke out during the first year of the Peloponnesian War, Procopius
depicted a 542 A.D. epidemic. Later, John Cantacuzino (G. Moravcsik,
1966) would also appeal to this early description in order to describe a
plague in 1347. Along the same lines, Constantine Porphyrogenitus credits
the dying Moravian prince, Sviatopluk, with the parable of the bundle of
rods illustrating the need for solidarity among heirs. This allusion is
nothing but an imitation of one of Aesop’s fables having the same topic.
Meant to entertain readers, it was permitted by the literary nature of
Byzantine historical writing.
Another ideologically revealing trait is the habit of Byzantine authors of
giving various peoples other names than their real ones, actually the
names of ancient peoples who had inhabited the same regions: Moesians,
Scythians, Triballi, etc. This habit has given rise to major problems of
interpretation and has generated serious confusion in the minds of those
who use Byzantine histories as historical sources. Throughout the
centuries (sometimes from writer to writer in the same century), the real
contents of these stereotypical archaizing names was quite different from
reality. For instance, both Bulgarians and Balkan Vlachs are called
Moesians, while the designation of Scythians included Russians, Cumans,
Petchenegs, and Tartars. This practice is not simply a rhetorical tic. It is
also a vision of the world, for the Byzantines who considered themselves to
be Romaioi, i.e., Romans, their eternal empire was confronted with the
same barbarians who existed in ancient times. The differences between
various barbarian peoples are basically unimportant. At the same time, the
fact that Byzantine historians gave archaizing names to other peoples as a
rhetorical device proves that they lacked both a genuinely scientific spirit
and a concern for existing realities, allowing themselves to be dominated
by abstractions and dogmatism. This characteristic emphasizes the critical
IMPERIAL IDEOLOGZ AND CLASSICIYING RHETORIC
35
difference between Byzantine literature and Western Latin medieval
historical literature, the latter being infinitely more realistic.
The treatment that Byzantine writers gave to Latinisms matches the
inclination in Byzantine historical writing in favour of rhetorical classicism.
For Byzantine historians, Latinisms were, first of all, a matter of style,
rhetoric, and literary language, having little to do (as was the case in other
ages or regions) with scientific scruples or accuracy. What they wanted to
do was to give those words of Latin origin, lacking a well-established
literary past, a convenient rhetorical status, thus enabling them to meet
both literary requirements and the various needs related to
communication and historical reflection.
The problem was neither insoluble nor new. In their works, the Greek
historians of late antiquity – Polybius, Plutarch, Dionysius of
Halicarnassus, Arrianus, and Apianus – had had to solve the same
problem when writing about Roman realities. Indeed, some of them were
well acquainted with Latin. They had used and even translated Latin
sources without denying their Hellenism and without abandoning the
ideals and traditions of Greek rhetorical culture, despite their attraction for
(and attachment to) Rome. These authors had had the necessary time and
cultural resources to draw up a Hellenic style for Roman historical writing.
In order to express the notions designated by Latin words – most of which
were realia – they had been able to use two methods: borrowed
translations and linguistic borrowings as such, i.e., neologisms.
The following are examples of Plutarch’s loan translations: eparchos tes
aules = praefectus praetorio, to demosion tamieion = aerarium, eparchia =
provincia, nomos sitikos = lex frumentaria, embola = rostra, semeiophoros =
signifer, pateres syngegrammenoi = patres conscripti. The following are a
few examples of neologisms used by the same writer: diktator, milion,
assarion, tribounos, liktoreis, senatos, and denarion. As can be observed in
the case of neologisms, the Latin forms adjust to Greek and join its
morphological system.
Although he was not an excessively purist and archaizing writer,
Plutarch (as researchers have observed) was scrupulous in limiting his
vocabulary, to some extent, to words that were used by Polybius and by
Dionysius of Halicarnassus in their works. He did the same thing with the
borrowed Latin terms that he used, avoiding all innovations in this respect.
Even if Latinisms are largely present in other manifestations of the Greek
language (inscriptions, papyri), the vision of Greek authors in the Age of
Rome still seems to reflect reservations in regard to Latinisms that were
not politically motivated (for most of these authors were favourable to
Rome, and some of them had even learned Latin), but had to do with
rhetorical scruples.
A method frequently used by the Greek writers of late antiquity to
stylistically “neutralize” Latinisms and to somehow isolate them in the
texts is that of the so-called glosses. Latinisms are introduced by certain
topical expressions, that is, they are “translated”, their etymology is
established, and thus they formally qualify as Latinisms. The most
36
N.-Ş. TANAŞOCA
frequent introductory phrases are: “as referred to by the Romans”, “the socalled”, “which the Romans call”, “what Romans used to call”, “how the
Romans call it”. Here are a few examples of such glosses taken from
Plutarch:
Keleras prosegoreusen, hoper esti tacheis (Plutarch, Numa, 7); hoi
kaloumenoi keleres (Plutarch, Romulus, 26); en tois archeiois, ha
prinkipia Rhomaioi (Plutarch, Galba, 12); loupas gar ekaloun hoi
Latinoi tas lykainas (Plutarch, Romulus, 4).
By these means, the Greek writers of late antiquity preserved the purity
of their classicizing style, of their “Attic” language, and developed a new
dimension of their corpus of historical writing – that of the erudition of the
Latin language and of Roman civilization - thus providing this category of
literary messages with a stylistic status of its own.
Byzantine writers would employ all the methods developed in the
attempts of ancient Greek literature to solve the problems of the use of
Latinisms. They appealed to loan translations and to neologisms, but, as
was indicated above, both groups generally belong to a linguistic legacy
consisting of older realities of the current language and even of words
already used by men of letters.
The fact that certain Byzantine historians insisted on using glosses is
thus not all that striking. What follows is an example from Procopius
Ten agestan... houto gar hoi Rhomaioi to poioumenon te Latinon phone
ekaloun (Bella II: 7, 15); helkei de litras to kentenarion hekaton, aph’
hou de kai onomastai. Kenton gar ta hekaton kalousi Rhomaioi (Bella
I: 22, 4); pyrgokastellon auton hekaston einai te kai kaleisthai
pepoieke. Kastellous gar ta phrouria te Latinon kalousi phone (Aed., II:
5, 8); phoideratoi epiklethentes: houto gar autous tote Latinon phone
ekalesan Rhomaioi, ekeino, oimai, paradelountes, hoti de ouch
hessemenoi auton to polemo Gotthoi, all’ epi xynthekais tisin
enspondoi egenonto sphisi, phoidera gar Latinoi tas en polemo kalousi
xynthekas (Bella: IV, 2, 1).
The use of glosses is a common feature of all Byzantine historians in
the Sixth and the Seventh Centuries. Many cases can be found in the
writings of Theophylactus Simocattes, in which almost every Latin word is
accompanied by a gloss. We also find them in the works of Agathias and of
Menander Protector, but mainly in those of John of Lydos, who takes
advantage of any opportunity to elaborate on each and every Latinism he
comes across, thus proving his Latin erudition.
Glosses were seldom used after the Seventh Century; however, they are
once again found no earlier than in the Tenth Century, in the works of
historians who wrote during the Macedonian Renaissance. Constantine
Porphyrogenitus used them quite frequently. What follows is his
explanation for the origin of the word boukellarioi, a category of army
IMPERIAL IDEOLOGZ AND CLASSICIYING RHETORIC
37
servants in charge of supplies, which also states the name of an Anatolian
Byzantine root:
To thema ton Boukellarion
Ouk apo topou tinos ten prosegorian ektesato, oute men apo ethnous
houto kaloumenou, all dia to epakolouthein tois stratiotais kai tas
trophas auton epipheresthai – boukellarios gar kata Rhomaion
dialekton ho phylax tou artou kaleitai – hoste einai tous stratiotas
elaphrous kai abareis pros ton polemon: boukellos gar to krikeloeides
psomion kaleitai, kellarios de ho phylax tou artou. To gar oikeion
onoma tou ethnous kai hellenikon, Mariandynoi onomazontai,
epeklethesan de Galatai (De thematibus: VI: 1-8 [in, Agostino Pertusi,
comp., 1952]).
The following is the explanation that Constantine Porphyrogenitus gives
to another Latin name of a root:
To de thema to kaloumenon Opsikion pasin echei gnorimon ten
prosegorian: opsikion gar rhomaisti legetai, hoper semainei te hellenon
phone tous proporeuomenous emprosthen tou basileos epi eutaxia kai
time (De thematibus IV: 1-3 [in, Agostino Pertusi, comp., 1952]).
If one compares the changes in various Greek glosses of Latin words
found in Greek historical literature from late antiquity to the Tenth
Century, one discovers the following: In ancient times, a gloss had a part
to play in the process of communication and a logical reason for being. It
was a way to preserve the purity of a certain style and of educating readers
in regard to the Latin language and civilization. In the Byzantine age,
between the Sixth and the Seventh Centuries, the method seemed to be
out of place, for the words being explained had already entered the Greek
language, designating elements of a civilization with which all readers were
acquainted. By then the gloss had become a mannerist reflex, with no real
communicative role and with a doubtful aesthetic effect. And if one were to
consider that the Byzantines called themselves Romans or Romaioi, the
explanations given in the glosses, i.e., - “Romans say”, “as the Romans call
it” – become even more ambiguous and unreasonable.
By the Tenth Century, however, glosses were being skilfully
manipulated by historians such as Constantine Porphyrogenitus. They
recovered their communicative role and were used discreetly, within the
strict limits of messages conveying needs. It can be said that this
procedure was yet another way in which the Macedonian Renaissance
brought back good taste to historical literature.
The disappearance of glosses after the Seventh Century had nothing to
do with awareness of the disharmonies that they produced; rather, it was
the result of the fact that Byzantine writers were no longer familiar with
Latin. True enough, most Byzantine historians in the Sixth and Seventh
Centuries knew Latin very well, for they still lived under the régime of an
official diglot (Latin as the state language; Greek as the cultural language),
38
N.-Ş. TANAŞOCA
while Eighth and Ninth Century authors had a very poor command of
Latin. Only in a few cases were glosses preserved and transmitted from
one writer to another, whereby they turned into rhetorical topoi, such as in
the etymology of Caesar’s name.
F. LANGUAGE VARIANTS AND LATINISMS IN BYZANTINE HISTORICAL
LITERATURE BETWEEN THE SIXTH AND THE TENTH CENTURIES
Seven decades ago, Karl Krumbacher (1898), the founder of modern
“scientific”
Byzantinology,
divided
Byzantine
historical
writing
conventionally into two categories: histories and chronicles. This
distinction, which came to be commonplace in the field of Byzantinology,
appeared to be justified by the Byzantine vision of historical writing that
distinguished between historians (hoi historesantes) and chroniclers (hoi
chronographesantes). Even the titles given to their works, Historiai, Chronika,
Cronographiai, seemed to argue in favour of such a sub-classification.
By and large, the differences between the two variants of Byzantine
historical writing are the following. Histories are writings that deal with
well-determined spans of time, usually periods during the life of the
respective author. Histories were the work of cultivated people who were
frequently outstanding personalities of the Byzantine state who had taken
part in certain events that they presented from a very personal angle,
sometimes with obvious political purposes. Histories were written in a
markedly classicizing style and followed the model of the famous historians
of antiquity. They reflected the use of certain methods that were amply
represented in ancient classical histories, such as the fictitious speech or
letter.
Chronicles, however, are texts that describe the unfolding of worldhistorical events, from Genesis to the period of their authors, provided that
the authors in question have had the time to complete them. In many
cases, chronicles are of monastic origin. They are pervaded by a religious
spirit and, frequently, even by a sort of fanaticism that distorts the
narrative of older as well as more recent events.
Chronicles devoted special attention to religious events and details. The
materials that they included were not selected on the basis of objective
criteria according to the perceived historical importance of given events;
rather, they tended to take account of the spectacular, the sensational,
and the bizarre aspects of the subject being narrated. In chronological
order and on a yearly basis, chronicles gathered stories taken from various
(similar) sources about natural disasters, miracles, quaint happenings,
great deeds, political actions, famous wars and battles, illustrious heroes,
amazing and unusual things, monuments that had been raised, the
founding of cities, important decisions in religious life, synod meetings,
defrockings and canonizations, etc. They were written in an unpretentious
language, closer to the spoken tongue, at least so far as vocabulary was
concerned. They did not attempt to imitate ancient writings and were often
animated by a spirit that was hostile to Pagan, “Hellenic” classicism. Their
IMPERIAL IDEOLOGZ AND CLASSICIYING RHETORIC
39
literary models were the Bible, used as a source for the oldest historical
events, and religious writings. Chronicles were usually taken up repeatedly
and underwent compilations and amendments, while Byzantine histories
generally continued each other.
The latest research has distinguished even further between histories
and chronicles. Contrary to the opinions of certain older researchers,
stress is now laid upon the fact that chronicle literature was not written in
the spoken popular tongue, but rather in a language which was more open
to oral influences and did not very much reflect the influence of ancient
classic models. Text content and structured elements are evoked in order
to point out that frequently histories obtained inspiration from the
analytical model of chronicles. At any rate, the fitting of chronography into
the Byzantine hierarchy of literary genres was governed by rhetorical rules
that were quite rigorously observed by writers. In Herbert Hunger’s vision
(1978), chronicles are a “Trivial-literatur”, a literature of “wide
consumption”, somewhat resembling present-day thrillers or certain
serials that disseminate historical fact for common use. But both histories
and chronicles belong to the same Byzantine historiographic literature, are
inspired by the same vision of history, and reflect the same major
tendencies in each age. They stand for two stylistically different levels of
historical writing rather than representing two different types of
historiography. At any rate, one cannot claim that their separate sets of
characteristics represent two social classes, the dominant and the
oppressed.
On the other hand, it is possible to speak of the language of chronicles
and of the language of histories as representing two variants of the same
language used by Byzantine historians, rather than of two different
languages. Generally speaking, there are many points of convergence
regarding essential aspects between the two variants. These include the
conceptual dowry of Byzantine historians, their scholarly methods, and
their vision of history. As for the common literary use and the ideal norm
of the literary language, the freedom of historians was manifested in the
preferential use of a certain classic model, in the choice to archaize, in the
use of certain dialectical Ionic or Attic features, with implicit vocabularyrelated consequences, and in the appeal to a simpler (or, on the contrary,
more sophisticated and bombastic) syntax.
What freedom chroniclers had is reflected in their appeal to the
resources of the spoken tongue, especially in regard to vocabulary. The
style of historians is more personal and easier to identify according to
stylistic criteria, while the style of chroniclers is more impersonal and
homogenous. As for Latinisms, historians and chroniclers had different
attitudes. The former avoided them because to them they were facts of the
spoken tongue, while the latter naturally used them for exactly the same
reason. One can even say that the use of Latinisms was among the
unifying elements of the style of chroniclers.
The rhetorical determination of the frequency of Latinisms in the works
of Byzantine historical writing can be easily observed in the following
40
N.-Ş. TANAŞOCA
paradox: Procopius of Caesarea, a Latin speaking historian who lived in an
environment in which Latin was not only fashionable, but was also the
official language of the state, has throughout his work (1700 pages in the
latest edition, that of G. Wirth, 4 vols., 1963-1964) not more than fifty
Latinisms, most of which he described as such and systematically glossed.
On the other hand, in the 500 pages of his chronicle, Theophanes the
Confessor, a Ninth Century Byzantine aristocrat and monk, not familiar
with Latin, used 197 Latin words or words derived from Latin on Greek
soil. Obviously, the choices of both writers reflected variants of a certain
historiographic language. Living in the same century as Procopius, in his
turn, John Malalas of Antioch, the father of Byzantine chronography, used
more than 150 Latinisms and Latin derivatives in 500 printed pages of
chronicles. He never resorted to glosses in the case of words already in
use, but only for words which had not yet been assimilated. The reason for
his use of Latinisms was not his honourable command of Latin (he
translated quotations from Virgil), but – as in the case of Theophanes two
centuries later – the rhetorical norm governing his work, the variant of the
historiographic language that he chose.
During the Macedonian Dynasty, the promoters of the so-called “first
Byzantine humanism“ led by the learned Emperor Constantine VII
Porphyrogenitus attempted to merge the two historiographic language
variants. In their respective writings, Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus,
Joseph Genesios, and Theophanes’s successors used a language
somewhat closer to the spoken tongue, without fully giving up the
rhetorical traditions of so-called elevated literature. The number of
Latinisms to be found in these Tenth Century historical works is the same
as in the case of the chronicles. Moreover, in addition to the official and
scholarly variants of different words, one can discover counterparts in their
vulgar, common use. In Constantine VII’s, On Ceremonies, for instance,
admission is used in parallel with adminsio, missa with minsa, prokessos
with prokensos, etc. The deliberate appeal to Latin words – to vulgarisms,
generally speaking – is made clear in the Foreword of the above-mentioned
work. Here the Emperor explains that he has used words belonging to the
spoken, plain language to make himself more easily understood and in
order to give things the names by which they are usually called. This new
style, that tended to remove the linguistic barriers between chronicles and
histories and to completely unify the language of Byzantine historians, did
not, however, succeed in tempering the archaizing and classicizing zeal of
Byzantine writers. Purists quickly responded, and the effects of their
reaction – even so far as Latinisms were concerned – are best seen in the
works of Leo the Deacon. Consequently, the two language variants used in
historical writings, although quite often confronting each other, persisted
until the end of the Byzantine era and even survived into the modern
Greek world.
Within the scholarly variant of Byzantine historiographic language, the
Sixth Century work of John Lawrence of Lydos offers a very instructive and
special case.
IMPERIAL IDEOLOGZ AND CLASSICIYING RHETORIC
41
The Lydian was a highly interesting personality who worked in the
praetorium prefecture, had a masterful command of Latin language and
culture, and was a keen supporter of keeping Latin as the official state
language. Stubbornly conservative, he wrote a number of works of
historical erudition on the Roman calendar and on Roman institutions and
holidays. Proud of his Latin and even Etruscan erudition, John of Lydos
was also a true lover of the Hellenic style in historical works, an archaizing
purist who used the clearest and cleanest cabinet Attic. One should not be
deceived by the large number of Latinisms in his works, which, at first
sight, might give the impression that he was one of the most Latinizing of
Byzantine writers. Every time he wrote the names of Roman republican
and imperial institutions, of clerks, of arms, of categories of holidays, of
birds, of other animals, or of any other things, John of Lydos dutifully
accompanied them with glosses and thus isolated them in the text. His
purist spirit was equally visible in fragments of translations from Latin
authors – jurists and historians, philologists and poets – that he
introduced ostentatiously into his work. After all, John of Lydos was the
most typical representative of the conservative vision of the Latin-Greek
diglot (language of state versus language of culture), drawn up as early as
Justinian’s rule, but promptly attacked by the representatives of a rising
Hellenistic Byzantinism.
If one wants to have a good image of the individual variants of the
language of historical writing of Byzantine historians of the Sixth through
Tenth Centuries, the example of John Lawrence of Lydos is substantial in
comparison with that of the other Byzantine cultivators of history. This
bureaucrat, who was a contemporary of Justinian, gave a very personal
embodiment to the language of scholarly history and had no imitators. His
is the second variant of historical language. One is tempted to call it an
antiquarian language. It gets very close to the type of language used in
encyclopedic works such as the Tenth Century great Suda Lexicon.
Another Byzantine historian who used a very personal language, even
though he remained within the limits permitted by the rhetorical norms of
the genre, was Theophylactus Simocattes, Emperor Heraclius’s panegyrist.
In his archaizing zeal, Simocattes used archaizing names not only instead
of the usual names of various barbarian peoples, but also to designate
certain Byzantine institutions. Thus, he gave the designation, satrap,
previously used by Herodotus to designate Persian provincial governors, to
administrators of Byzantine themes. This usage, however, on the part of
Theophylactus Simocattes, was probably not simply an excess of literary
rhetoric culminating in the occultation of historical realities through
language. It may, indeed, well be that Simocattes was a better historian
than some of his predecessors or successors. He not only used earlier
histories as sources, but also archival documents to which he had access
by virtue of being the secretary of Emperor Heraclius. One should not
forget that he lived in a period during which the Byzantine Empire was
being restructured, indeed at the decisive moment at which it changed into
an Eastern-type, theocratic and Hellenistic state. Simocattes was also the
42
N.-Ş. TANAŞOCA
first writer to use the term, basileus, to designate the emperor both in
writing Byzantine history and in the realities of political life. (The term had
previously been reserved for Persian kings.) Therefore, one can assume
that by using the term, satrap, Simocattes was only underlining the fact of
the genuine Orientalization of the Byzantine Empire and of its new role as
successor to the Persian monarchy after the victories of Emperor Heraclius
over the Persian armies.
How vigorous the rhetorical impact was on “scientific” reflection, on
reality, in Byzantine historical writing can be observed by studying the
case of the poet, Georgios Pisides, another Heraclian panegyrist and
author of certain epic poems having a historical content. The poems by
this poet lack almost any Latinisms, for elevated Byzantine poetry was very
keen on forbidding any use of vulgarisms. The trade-off was that Homer’s
shadow can be observed in all the verses of Herakleias and the Wars. Just
as in the case of later aulic and panegyric rhetoric, the historical event is
tossed into the rhetorician’s retorts and is processed to its core. What
comes out is none other than an ideal ideological scheme, an abstract and
impersonal effigy of the “good emperor” who is successful in times of war
and is governed by a spirit of justice and philanthropy in times of peace.
Through rhetoric which acts, therefore, as a means, ideology has the last
word in Byzantine historical epic works, as in the other imperial cultural
fields.
G. CONCLUSIONS
Having reached the end of this study of the ways in which Byzantine
historians of the Sixth to Tenth Centuries used borrowed words of Latin
origin, what general conclusions can be drawn about the specificity of the
language of Byzantine historical writing?
The decisive impact of rhetoric on this language is perhaps the most
striking feature of Byzantine historical writing, distinguishing it from the
historical writing that occurred in other ages and among other peoples.
The rhetorical norm determined the attitudes to Latin words of given
writers, the aesthetic criterion taking precedence over any scruples as to
realism and accuracy. For this reason, Byzantine historical writing is
primarily literary and only secondarily scientific.
In their turn, rhetorical norms were determined by a certain imperial
ideology the ultimate purpose of which was to assert the pre-eminence of
the Byzantine Empire, including its political, cultural, and religious
mission in the world, and to legitimize a certain social order that the
writing of history was called upon to serve in its capacity as an instrument
of propaganda. Thus, in the final analysis, Byzantine classicism is both an
expression and an instrument of imperialism in its historical, Byzantine
meaning.
Efficient in so far as propaganda and artistic achievement were
concerned, this outlook (reflected as such by the language used in the
writing of history) was a barrier to its development in terms of scientific
IMPERIAL IDEOLOGZ AND CLASSICIYING RHETORIC
43
progress. This outlook also played a part in the cultural isolation of
Byzantium and prevented it from assimilating other cultural values,
promoting as it did the illusion of perfection born from solitary contact
with the models of classical antiquity.
Classicizing rhetoric and imperial ideology were unifying factors that
gave Byzantine historiography its unmistakable profile. However, within
this historiographic framework there were well individualized and fairly
rigorously coded language variants from a rhetorical perspective: the
language of histories, the language of chronicles, the language of learned
antiquaries. At the same time, various authors, having stronger than
average artistic and cultural personalities, reflected various personal
historiographic language variants, but even they ultimately submitted to
an unquestioned dominant norm.
Under the apparent immobility of historiographic forms and language,
the Sixth to Tenth Centuries experienced a definite evolution, a tendency
to draw up a unique and efficient style and language for historical writing
that was able to serve the needs of communication, to reflect an adequate
knowledge of reality, and to observe certain common-sense aesthetic
criteria. Although this tendency finds its best expression in the historical
writing of the Macedonian Renaissance, it was not capable of a total
triumph, for it was successfully countered by a purist, archaizing, and
conservative response.
The ways in which the Byzantine authors understood how to establish
norms and criteria for evaluating historiographic language is in full
harmony with their vision of a cultural language, the roots of which can be
traced to the Greek-Latin diglot of the late Roman Empire, when Greek
and Latin, specifically and respectively, served the cultural and the
political fields. The Byzantine élite could never transcend its diglot vision
and thus transferred its Greek-Latin polarity to its own Greek culture. The
language of Byzantine historical writing was, therefore, strongly influenced
by this diglot that gave rise to a lack of realism, sterility, and inadequacy in
dealing with certain realities. It determined the limited capacities of
historians to communicate within Byzantine society and throughout the
world.
H. BIBLIOGRAPHY
1. References
AHRWEILER, Hélène. L’Idéologie politique de l’Empire byzantin. Paris, 1975.
ANASTASI, Rosario. Studii sulla “Chronographia” di Michelle Psellos. Catania,
1969.
BECK, Hans-Georg. Theodoros Metochites, Munich, 1952.
BOISSONADE, Jean-François. Anecdota graeca. Vol. 3. Paris, 1831 (rev. ed.,
1962).
CANTACUZENI, Ioannis [John Cantacuzino]. Eximperatoris Historiarum, libri
IV. cura L. Schopeni [comp.]. vols. I-III. Bonn, 1828-1832.
44
N.-Ş. TANAŞOCA
CEDRENUS [Kedrenos], George. Ioannis Scylitzae ope ab I [John Skylitzes], I.
Bekkero, comp., suppletus et emendatus, I-II, Bonn, 1838-1839.
CHALCOCONDIL [Chalcocondyles], Laonikos. Expuneri istorice. Trad. Vasile
Grecu, Bucharest, 1958.
COMITÉ INTERNATIONAL DES SCIENCES HISTORIQUES. XVè Congrès International
des Sciences Historiques. Bucharest, 10-17 août 1980. Rapports I.
Grands thèmes et méthodologie, publié avec l’aide financière de
l’UNESCO. Bucharest, 1980 [“Méthodologie”, I. “Le language de
l’historien”, pp. 397-436, rapporteur général Karl-Georg Faber, corapporteurs: Pietro Rossi, Wolfgang Küttler, Quentin R. D. Skinner,
Stanislaw Piekarczyk, Eugen Stănescu et Aron Petric]. Bucharest, 1980.
COMNÈNE, Anne [Anna Comnena]. Alexiade: Règne de l’Empéreur Alexis I
Comnène, 1081-1118. Texte établi et traduit par Bernard Leib. 3 vols.
Paris, 1937-1945.
DAGRON, Gilbert D. “Aux origines de la civilization byzantine: langue de
culture et langue d’État”, Revue Historique 93 241 (1969): 241, 23-56.
HAHN, Ludwig. Rom und Romanismus im griechisch-römischen Osten.
Lepizig, 1906.
HUNGER, Herbert. Die hochsprachliche profane Literatur der Byzantiner. 2
vols. Munich, 1978.
JENKINS, Romilly J. H. The Hellenistic Origins of Byzantine Literature.
Dumbarton Oaks Papers 17. Washington D. C., 1963.
KRIARAS, Emanoil. La Diglossie des derniers siècles byzantins: Naissance de
la littérature néo-hellénique. Oxford, 1966.
KRUMBACHER, Karl. Geschichte der byzantinischen Literatur. Munich, 1898.
LAZAREV, Victor. Storia della pittura bizantina. Turin, 1967.
LEMERLE, Paul. Leçon inaugurale, faite le vendredi 8 décembre 1967. Paris:
Collège de France, Chaire d’histoire et civilization de Byzance. 1967.
LEMERLE, Paul. Le premier Humanisme byzantin. Paris, 1971.
LJUBARSKY, J. N. Michail Psell: Ličnost’ i tvorčestvo: K istorii vizantijskogo
predgumanizma. Moscow, 1978.
MIRAMBEL, André. La langue grecque moderne. Paris, 1959.
MORAVCSIK, Gyula. “Klassizismus in der byzantinischen
Geschichtsschreibung”, in, Polychronion, Festschrift Fr. Dölger zum 75
Geburstag. Heidelberg, 1966, pp. 366-377.
PORFIROGENITO, Constantino [Constantine Porphyrogenitus]. De
thematibus. “Introduzione”, testo critico, commentato a cura di A.
Pertusi, A. [comp.]. Vatican City, 1952.
PROCOPII [Procopius]. Caesariensis Opera omnia, recognovit J. Haury, editio
stereotype correctior, addenda et corigenda adiecit G. Wirth, comp.,
Lipsiae, 1962-1964, 4 vols. [Bella, I-II, Historia arcana, III, De aedificiis,
IV].
IMPERIAL IDEOLOGZ AND CLASSICIYING RHETORIC
45
SCYLITZAE, Ioannis [John Skylitzes]. Eximpertoris Historiarum libri IV, cura
L. Schopeni [comp.], vols. I-III. Bonn, 1828-1832.
ŠEVČENKO, Ihor. Etudes sur la polémique entre Théodore Métochite et
Nicéphore Choumnos. Bruxelles, 1962, pp. 202-203, 206 [citations from
Theodore Metochites].
STEIN, Ernst. Histoire du Bas-Empire. Vol. 2, Paris, 1949 [Chapitre 12,
“L’Age d’or de la littérature byzantine”, pp. 691-734].
TANAŞOCA, Nicolae-Şerban. Cuvinte latine la scriitorii bizantini din secolele
VI-X, Thesis for the Doctorate, Bucharest, 1979a.
TANAŞOCA, Nicolae-Şerban. “La Littérature byzantine et le réalisme”, in,
Études Byzantines et Post-byzantines. Bucharest, 1979b, pp.77-93.
TANAŞOCA, Nicolae-Şerban. “Remarques sur les latinismes de l’historiographie
byzantine: sixième-dixième siècles”, Revue des Études Sud-Est
Européennes 23 3 (1985): 241-248.
WILSON, Nigel G. An Anthology of Byzantine Prose. Berlin and New York,
1971 [Procopius, “The Plague”, pp. 13-18].
ZILLIACUS, Henrik. Zum Kampf der Weltsprachen im Oströmischen Reich.
Helsinki, 1935.
2. Other Literature
LAFOSCADE, Léon.. “L’Influence du latin sur le grec”, in, J. PSICHARI, ed.
Études de philologie néo-grecque: Recherches sur le développement
historique du grec. Paris, 1892.
MEYER, Gustav. Die lateinischen Lehnwörter im Neugriechischen. Vienna,
1895.
MIHĂESCU, Haralambie. La Romanité dans le Sud-Est de l’Europe.
Bucharest, 1993.
PSALTES, Stephanos B. Grammatik der Griechischen Chroniken. Göttingen,
1913.
VISCIDI, Federico. I Prestiti latini nel greco antico e bizantino. Padua, 1944.
II. The Medieval State and Artistic Geneses in
Southeastern Europe
RĂZVAN THEODORESCU
A. COURSE AND CONSEQUENCES OF CONVERSION TO CHRISTIANITY
In a recent attempt at an anthropological perspective on the conversion of
certain Pagan groups to the Christian order, it was possible to make some
insightful remarks about the meanings of this crucial religious
phenomenon occurring in different ages and from one meridian to another.
Conversion to Christianity
means different things to different
peoples and entails divergent social consequences.... The process of
conversion in all times and places involves both epistemological and
pragmatic changes to the existing cultural order (R. W. Hefner, 1993,
pp. 30 and 319).
Present day Europe is a continent in which everybody would like to
integrate, but without a general burning need to do so. Recent surveys
indicate that while 36 percent of Europeans acknowledge their national
identities, only 12 percent acknowledge that their European identity was
born under the sign of the Cross. Almost seventy years ago, the English
Catholic historian, Christopher Dawson (1932), formulated this theory
about the Christian identity of Europe; a theory that, although attacked
from all sides, was perfectly justified by the facts.
True enough, the Europe of ethnogenesis, in which medieval states
were established before and after the famous “year 1000”, proved to be the
very place where the Mediterranean Christian territory met Paganism.
More specifically, the three peninsulas (Iberian, Italian, and Balkan), plus
the former Gaul bordered on the Pagan territories in the Barbaricum,
beyond the Alps, the Rhine, and the Danube, where most evangelizations
and Christianizations took place, in Friesland and Germany, up to Poland,
Pannonia, Russia, and Scandinavia, as well as in the South-Danubean
enclave of Bulgaria.
All these conversions to Christianity were, without exception, of the topto-bottom type, undertaken at the initiative of various military chiefs who
were leaders of nomads who had either become sedentary as early as the
Fifth to the Seventh Centuries, or, as in the case of the peoples near the
Dnieper, in Pannonia, in the Balkan-Pontic, and the Balkan-Adriatic
regions, between the Eighth and the Tenth Centuries, were in the process
of doing so.
46
THE MEDIEVAL STATE AND ARTISTIC GENESES
47
Most conversions were spectacular. As transitions from one state of
being to another, they have drawn the attention of modern historians both
from a historical and from an ethnological standpoint. They determined the
creation of appropriate alphabets, the most notable cases being the
Glagolitic and the Cyrillic alphabets, as well as the building of ostentatious
and monumental edifices meant to impress the converted people. After all,
conversion, as was properly observed (A. Djurova, pp. 644-671), gave rise to
a new type of communication, noticeable in the new Slavonic alphabet, and
in the adjustments to the norms of Christian art. Both writing and art
reflected an edifying and civilizing undertaking to which the evangelizing
competition of the basileis’ Constantinopole and pontifical Rome was an
essential contribution.1
B. THE SITUATION OF THE BALKAN SLAVS
The interdependence of state and ecclesiastic autonomy is an obvious
constant of early medieval history in Eastern Europe appearing in each
and every case.2 The tribal community that was established in the
Northeastern Balkan Peninsula after 681, with the two predominant Pagan
religions, of, respectively, the Slavs and the Asian Turanians, entered an
age of quickened centralization and feudalization. This metamorphosis
occurred at the same time as the mass Christianization of the Bulgars in
the seventh decade of the Ninth Century during the rule of Khan Boris,
who when baptized, took the Byzantine imperial name, Mihail. At the same
time, long arguments were underway between the ruler of Pliska and Louis
the German, between Pope Nicholas I in Rome and the Byzantine
Patriarchs, Photyios and Ignatius, as well as over the question, in 869-870,
of the establishment of a Bulgarian autocephalous archbishopric that
would be obedient to Constantinople by virtue of certain old claims of the
latter to Justiniana Prima’s Roman-Byzantine diocese.
In a highly similar context, but in Russia, the end of the Tenth Century
and the beginning of the Eleventh witnessed the final act of a process of
ethnic genesis when the Russian people emerged from a mixture of Slavic
tribes with Finnic or Varangian-Scandinavian elements, in that ruskaia
zemlia of medieval texts, from Ladoga to Kiev, and adopted Christianity en
masse between 988-989 under the rule of the Great Knez, Vladimir
Sviatoslavitch. Even though there had been isolated conversions earlier,
like that of Princess Olga in Constantinople in 955, Vladimir acquired,
1See A. Grabar, Vol. 2 (Paris, 1938), pp. 1105-1116, an exemplary text about research methods through
which the artistic phenomenon (the building of representative walled churches) is linked to conversions
through missionary work as of the beginning of the Middle Ages: “On constate aussi que dans les pays des
missions l’art chrétien n’apparaît pas d’une manière désordonnée, mais s’implante d’après un certain
système ou plutot d’après plusieurs systèmes.... On y observe, en outre, que certains missionaires
considéraient l’art lui-même comme un moyen d’agir sur les populations récemment converties; tandis que
pour d’autres l’oeuvre d’art n’était qu’un moyen d’assurer le culte. Mais dans les deux cas, les missionaires
s’éfforcèrent de donner une valeur symbolique particulière à certaines oeuvres d’art qu’ils patronnaient” (p.
1108).
2Many of these thoughts are the result of the author’s own research. See R. Theodorescu, 1978, pp.
211-248.
48
R. THEODORESCU
through Byzantium, the title of Basileus, a Porphyrogenitus wife, a number
of priests and monks from the Empire, and some valuable relics from the
Crimean Chersonese, which forged the link between Kiev and Byzantium.
The conversion of 989 also coincided with the establishment in 990, in
completely shady circumstances, of the Kiev archbishopric, autocephalous
in its turn, which in 1037, during the very “Byzantine” rule of Jaroslav the
Wise, became a metropolitan seat of the Constantinople Patriarchate, with
a Greek ruler and an establishment of aulic Constantinople inspiration.
Still, around the year 1000 in old Pannonia, the Christianization
through Rome of the Hungarian tribes that had stopped here a hundred
years earlier, picked up again. The process continued, in a different and
larger scale, the activities of the Ninth Century Latin missionaries in a
Slavic environment, that had been mixed with Avaric remains and FrenchBavarian infiltration, and that was ruled by the Zalavár military chieftains.
At this point, the century came to an end.
The Tenth Century had witnessed the gradual feudalization of local
social structures along with the coexistence of regional rulers who were
comparatively autonomous in terms of their links to the Arpadian clan.
Such was the situation of a certain Gyula, who was perhaps from
Southern Transylvania and was christened in Byzantium (like Princess
Olga of Kiev, who lived at about the same time). He had been at the
inception of an “apostolic” kingdom having an official Christianity of papal
Roman coloratura. Such had earlier been the case of Stephen I of
Hungary, son of the “Duke” of Geza, “Christianizer” of the Hungarians,
through the action of the Episcopal clergy and the Benedictine monks in
the political and ecclesiastic centers of the recently created state, in Alba
Regia and Esztergom and in Kalocsa and Veszprem.
The situation was somewhat different in Serbia. Here one finds a double
lack of strictly chronological coincidence between, on the one hand, the
Christianization of the local ruling class and the appearance of an
ecclesiastic hierarchy relying on it, and, on the other hand, between the
Christianization process in itself and the impetuous assertion of the newly
established state in the international political arena.
If, as in the case of the Bulgarians, the Russians, and the Hungarians,
relatively little time passed between the appearance of their state and their
Christianization, in situations in which the feudalization of society and
conversion to Christianity had strictly overlapped, the Serbian case was
somewhat different.
Fully sedentary even before the year 800, the Slavs inhabiting the
Western parts of the Balkan Peninsula, like the Bulgars of the Eastern
parts, were evangelized early in the course of the Ninth Century, therefore,
four centuries before the establishment of a feudal Serbian Kingdom,
through the action of the Frankish channel to Rome and through
Byzantium. Particular geographical conditions helped to preserve a
religious division with many isolated episcopates, as well as a political
division with countless “kings” and “dukes”, hereditary zupans and
archons in Zahlumya and Raška and in Bosnia and Duklya. It was only in
THE MEDIEVAL STATE AND ARTISTIC GENESES
49
the seventh decade of the Twelfth Century that Stephen Nemanya, the
Great Zupan of Raška, would establish a Serbian feudal and relatively
unitary and independent state. His son, also named Stephen (who would
later assume the title of Autocrator), received in 1217 both a royal crown
and papal recognition. His other son, Sava, was recognized two years later
– this time by Byzantine Nicaea – as ruler of a Serbian autocephalous
archbishopric. By this means, the first Nemanyids became the originators
of a long series of sovereigns who, in a highly singular manner for Europe,
were all of them at the very center of a royal cult that marked their entire
political and religious work as an illustrious moment among the geneses of
medieval civilizations in Southeastern Europe.
Events such as Christianizations and the establishment of local
churches among the Slavic and Turanian-Slavic peoples of Eastern Europe
were complemented, as part of the same historical step, by the
construction of representative monuments to the ideology, the aims, and
the policies of certain newly created states. This study, however, and the
research upon which it is based, only focuses on the more restricted
Balkan region.
The fact that these monuments appeared in the very genetic cores of
their respective nascent states, as the sedes regiae of their rulers and
roughly all at the same time, with their Christianization and their “official”
establishment recognized by one of the two “supranational” spiritual
authorities of the Middle Ages, is a first common feature which is easy and
natural to prove by a mere juxtaposition of data.
The undisputed representative (and at any rate grandiose, according to
European standards) monument of the first Bulgarian state was that of
Pliska, a huge “royal” triple-nave basilica with dimensions of 99 by 29.50
meters. It was certainly the first of the “seven splendid cathedrals” built by
Boris – and later described by Theophylactus of Ohrid by the phrase “as if
he [had] lit a seven-candle chandelier” (J. P. Migne, 1864, col. 1229). It was
constructed in a very specific architectural style, of Eastern-Byzantine
synthesis – with a massive, severe, and extremely monotonous build-up of
carefully worked stone – sometime during the rule of Boris-Mihail or of his
son, Simeon, in the second half of the Ninth Century, when the Bulgarians
underwent Christianization.
The construction of this basilica, with its three apses, a central nave
that was much wider than the collateral naves, and its alternation of
columns and pillars, was contemporaneous with the mass evangelization
of the Northeastern Balkans. This fact explains the presence of a
baptistery and of a large atrium with two porticoes (both equally needed for
the christening of neophytes). It is known that following some Tenth
Century work of restoration, the monument reproduced an ancient
architectural type already out of fashion in Byzantium, but just as
eloquent here. In the new barbarian capital, this style represented
continuity both stricto sensu, by the use of an architectural plan of a
paleo-Christian basilica that had been built in this region during
Justinian’s rule, and through an exclusively spiritual meaning, by
50
R. THEODORESCU
reference to certain illustrious ages of ancient times, to which the rulers of
this new state, established out of the conglomeration of (until recently)
Pagan and migratory tribes, wanted to be politically linked. The ages in
question were those of the Roman-Byzantine period during which, over
three hundred years earlier, in the same regions, there had been the
development of a basilican architecture. It was now repeating itself, being
replicated even in Pliska, next to the huge “royal basilica”.
This phenomenon followed immediately upon the consolidation of
Christianity as a monumental testimony of the building zeal of the recently
converted, typical of such a moment in the life of a people.
On the other hand, one should not forget that in the well-established
spiritual and political centers from which envoys left for Bulgarian
territories, namely Rome and the Carolingian Empire, a similar basilican
rebirth took place during this Ninth Century. It seems to have been
determined by a genuinely “Constantinian” imperial outlook. It had
previously been illustrated either by the renovation or by the building of a
number of Roman basilicas during the pontificates of Leo III and Pascal I
(including Santa Maria in Domnica, Santa Cecilia in Trastevere, and Santa
Prassede), as well as the construction of other basilicas in the German
territories (Corvey, Salvator, and Saint Peter of Werden). The same period,
around the year 900 and during the first years of the Tenth Century
(certainly during the rule of Simeon), witnessed the construction of the
second representative monument of the age, the so-called “round” or
“gilded” church, in the new Preslav Residence that was linked to the
Christian and Slavic stage of old Bulgarian culture. It was a sumptuous
and singular edifice, representative of the age during which the first
Bulgarian Czardom reached the peak of its power.
The Bulgarian feudal ruler had grown up in Constantinople. He had
been the protector of the Byzantine missionaries, Clement and Nahum,
and would be later crowned as a basileus, near the Wall of Byzantium, by
the Patriarch himself.
The Preslav circular church was very probably the princely chapel of the
Bulgarian capital. At the beginning of the Tenth Century, the first
Bulgarian Czardom felt a need to take up once again certain RomanByzantine traditions of church architecture that were filled with known
meanings. The case of the central area was correlated by medieval peoples
(as in Ravenna or Aachen) with the idea of a central almighty and
“imperial” rule, an initiative thus making possible the building of an
exceptional place. Such a place had moved lines and volumes, and rich
and glamorous ornaments, that were mainly represented by the glass,
ceramics, and coloured stone intarsia of marble columns and cornices, but
also by a predominantly zoomorphic and high relief type of sculpture, that
was quite far from the Constantinoplitan “classicism” of that time, but very
close to the sensibility and aesthetic sense of the so-called SlavoBulgarians, who could not have forgotten, only several decades after their
Christianization, some specific elements of the polychrome pomp to be
found in the art of steppe nomads.
THE MEDIEVAL STATE AND ARTISTIC GENESES
51
Turning to Serbia, one observes that in the medieval historical evolution
of Southeastern Europe, the role model was to be the most representative
monument of an old local civilization, the Studenica Church in Raška, in
the very geographical and political heart of the territory belonging to the
Southern Slavs in the Western parts of the Balkan Peninsula. It had been
constructed under the patronage of the Holy Virgin in the last two decades
of the Twelfth Century, between 1183 and 1196, by two brothers who were
soon to become the protagonists of the establishment of an independent
Serbian kingdom and of the autonomous church of Serbia. They were
Stephen and Sava, the first crowned sovereign and the first archbishop of
Serbia, respectively.
Even if, since the rule of the Great Zupan Stephen, father of the two
Nemanyids, places like Kuršumlya and Djurdjevi Stupovi had been able to
confirm the fact that the actual independence acquired by the Serbs from
Byzantium was accompanied by the building of their own monuments, it
was only the church of the Studenica monastery that properly marked the
fact that Serbia had joined an ideological and political Southeastern
European order of a certain distinction. On the one hand, the King had
been married to one of the daughters of the imperial Comnenoi, but then
later would be married to a Venetian duchess. On the other hand, the high
prelate was himself linked by the Athos monks both to the Nicaean
Orthodox patriarchal clergy and to the Catholic clergy in Salonika and in
Latin Constantinople. In the architecture and sculpture of the church in
question, the echoes of the Italian-Dalmatian Romanesque style
encountered the trends of Byzantine iconography of a few years before
1200. Its mural, monumental, and hieratic painting reflected influences of
the Byzantine Comnean art style.
That the link between these two exceptional political and cultural
personalities of the second Nemanyid generation with the Studenica
monument was programmatic and decisive for the role of the latter is
proved by the great influence exerted by Sava, who was biologically and
ideologically very close to the sovereign, over the iconography programme
of the main church. Here, a major role was assigned to Saint Stephen, who
not only gave his name to all future Serb sovereigns, but was also the
patron of the state and of the royal power in Nemanyid Serbia.
A second common feature of the monuments in question that is linked
to their visual characteristics is pomp which could tell quite a story about
the role, the place, the power, and the richness of certain founders. These
frequently wanted to be represented as being equal to the Byzantine
emperor and to the bearer of the imperial crown of the West. They wished
to be remembered as “Christianizers” of peoples, and they hoped to mark
the turning point that they and their monuments represented in the
history of their lands – by the nobility of the materials and by the special
accuracy of the artistic and technical accomplishments of places built on
the first day after conversion. They wanted the fact of conversion to be
registered by both their contemporaries and their successors in such a
52
R. THEODORESCU
way as to make certain that it would be a reality shared by all and would
form part of the collective mentality itself of the age around the year 1000.
Little is known today about the appearance of the great (so-called
“royal”) Pliska basilica. There is reason to believe, however, that it was
richly adorned as were the neighbouring palaces. It is known that these
were smartened up, by request of Boris-Mihail, with Byzantine-like
frescoes. The marble of the columns and of the covering of the inner faces,
the painted ceramic intarsia, the glass and the coloured stone which had
evolved into mosaics at a certain point, and the sculptured details
(especially on the cornices) were suggestive of the Preslav “round church”
(the latter probably being one and the same with what contemporaries
called the “gilded church” built by Simeon” and mentioned in the writings
of certain monks in 908), offer strong reasons to believe that they had
become totally integrated as part of the same scenery. This scenery had
been pervaded by a certain slightly barbarian pomp, very coloured, and
bearing the print of Byzantium.
The Bulgarian scholar, John the Exarch, noted in his Sestodnev, at the
beginning of the Tenth Century, the greatness of the outer city edifices,
adorned as they were with “paintings and sculpted wood”. Primarily,
however, as in the hyperbolic manner typical of medieval chroniclers, he
evolved the feeling of a traveller, who, having come from very far, had
reached the inner precincts of the residence on the river Ticha and,
astonished by the beauty he had encountered there, had associated it with
the greatness of the new faith which had spread throughout Bulgaria.
When entering the inner city and seeing high palaces and churches
adorned with stone, wood, and paintings on the outside, as well as with
marble, brass, silver and gold on the inside, he does not know what to
compare them with, for he had never seen such things in his country (La
Culture médiévale bulgare, 1961, p. 45).
In the case of the Preslav round church, such a qualifier as “gilded”
(given to it by one of its contemporaries), backed up by certain
archaeological findings of the last fifty years, brings to mind an image of
true richness in terms of adornment. One is thus able to perceive with the
mind’s eye the pomp of this principal creation of a Bulgarian ruler under
whose reign the Slav state in the Northeastern Balkan Peninsula reached
its peak of development.
John the Exarch also recalled the gold which adorned the cupola of the
Preslav church, as well as the marble. In the same way, Russian
chroniclers and Hungarian bishops in their Latin texts about the churches
of Alba Regia and Kiev had evoked the golden glow of the parietal
ornaments and the liturgical receptacles. They had also admired the
marble - that again, according to written testimonies, but also to material
evidence – had adorned each of these places in Tenth- and EleventhCentury Bulgaria, Russia, and Hungary. The same gold and marble would
obsessively persist (probably owing to their symbolic value) in the memory
of such a person as Gavriil the Protos, when he put pen to paper to write
about Neagoe Bassarab’s Curtea de Argeş foundation, half a millennium
THE MEDIEVAL STATE AND ARTISTIC GENESES
53
later. And gold and marble were prominent in what was the Twelfth and
Thirteenth Century monumentum princeps par excellence for Serbia, the
Studenica Church of the Holy Virgin.
As the life of the founder of the Studenica Church, written by its first
Superior, marked the beginning of old Serbian literature, the history of
Serbian medieval painting began with the initial 1208-1209 frescoes done
on a gold-yellow background by a Greek or a Constantinople artist brought
in by Sava Nemanya . He wanted to imitate for his Raška master the
glamour and the aspect of Byzantine mosaics, by the very costly method of
applying a thin gold sheet, in what had also acquired an extra-aesthetic
meaning.
As was the case of the white marble that ennobled this church – in a
Serbia which had so far only built in stone and brick and would continue
to do so to a great extent – these frescoes actually used their glamour and
contents to confirm a particular founding trait. The Great Zupan Nemanya,
who had built the Studenica where he would later become a monk,
endowing it with precious icons and chalices, luxurious surplices and
books, wanted to envelope, in the splendour of precious materials and
scintillating colours, the monument supposed to preserve his memory and
that of his two sons, Sava and Stephen. For the adornment of this edifice,
the sons, like the father, could always resort, imbued as they were with an
almost imperial munificence, to craftsmen based in a city, Constantinople,
which provided artistic measure and political legitimacy. These matters
were noted in the Jivot Stefana Nemanje, a biography written by
Nemanya’s son, Sava, the Superior of Studenica and Archbishop of Serbia,
and by his royal brother, Stephen. They acknowledged the presence of an
extremely “Byzantine” cultural monument in their own country, as BorisMihail, but especially Simeon, had already acknowledged in Bulgaria, and
Vladimir (but especially Jaroslav), in Kiev .
It was only natural for each of these monuments to have, as was the
case of the most important places in a recently established feudal state, a
set of well-defined and eminent roles. Indeed, this function was their third
common feature. The roles in question, included serving as places for
coronations, where the founding sovereigns and their successors were
charismatically “anointed”; as burial places for the members of a newly
created “dynasty”, and sometimes, as premises belonging to the highest
hierarch in the country and implicitly to the institution he represented.
These places were further legitimized in the eyes of the faithful by serving
as the repositories of, for instance, the bones of various bishops or
sovereigns glorified by means of artistic images and texts.
Because the Bulgarian religious foundations were the oldest in the
series of monuments falling within the scope of this study, they also
provide the least reliable information. Yet, they enable one to suspect that
the great Pliska basilica was the place at which all the important
ceremonies during the rule of Boris-Mihail took place and with a pomp
that carefully matched their size. It seems that quite an important part
was played by the so-called mitatoria placed in front of the altar). It is also
54
R. THEODORESCU
possible to infer that the Preslav “round” church, an even more remarkable
monument if one considers that its construction took place under the
diligent watch of a cartophylax, was Simeon’s court chapel. Here, in the
Tenth Century, the sovereign’s liturgy must have been performed by the
Patriarch whose religious seat could be found inside the same official
residence.
The Studenica church, that preserved the relics of the founder of this
monastic seat, had painted scenes that glorified him as the great Zupan,
Stephen, later known as Simeon the Monk, the founder of the medieval
Serbian Kingdom. These scenes had been designated under the literary
influence of the zealous hagiographer and author of liturgies, Sava
Nemanya. He had directed the ceremonial bringing over of the relics of the
Hilandar saintly monk (1207-1208), his father. In general terms, he had
become the outstanding personality of this political and spiritual
establishment. According to the local medieval mentality, he was the
protector of Serbia and the intervener for all the sovereigns until the end of
the Thirteenth Century. In a similar way, later Serbian monasteries
(Mileševa, Dečani, and Sopočani) would commemorate, in an absolutely
particular way, all royal donors whose tombs and relics they were to
shelter.
Because such a place was the ostentatious necropolis of founding
kings, knezes, and zupans, as well as a place for coronations, or, in certain
cases, like that of the Pliska basilica, for example, a collective christening
place, a monumentum princeps became, thanks to its prestige, a creator of
posterity, to be imitated, so far as architecture and parietal ornaments
were concerned, by architects, sculptors, and painters in the succeeding
generations. This role represented the fourth common features of such
places. The imitation worked in the same places or in more distant venues.
Each time, however, they would work for the successors of “christianizing”
sovereigns or of those who had founded churches and states and who
could thus perceive themselves as political, ideological, and founding
continuators of the works of their famous forerunners. Undoubtedly, the
large numbers of basilica churches having triple-nave plans constructed in
Pliska (more than ten, among which some were of considerable size) at the
end of the Ninth and into the Tenth Centuries, as well as the Preslav
edifices built according to the same plan structure, can be explained by
the influence that the large “royal” Pliska basilica had upon the builders.
These were, as noticed, convenient for the religious needs of the
recently converted. Possibly one should add that the rebirth of a basilica in
the Ninth Century, during the rule of the recently converted Boris-Mihail,
that memory (albeit hypothetical, but frequently present in the
historiography of this period), had linked to the Byzantium of Constantine
the Great and of Justinian, could also be identified in the dating of certain
parts of a basilica church with the patronage of Saint Achilles of Prespa, as
well as of another church with a very suggestive patronage – Saint Sophia
of Ohrid that was imperial and Constantinoplitan at the same time. This
last sanctuary had probably been the cathedral of this large Macedonian
THE MEDIEVAL STATE AND ARTISTIC GENESES
55
urban center. As such it was mentioned by Theophylactus in his biography
of Bishop Clement, along with the churches of the latter that were built
according to a very different monumental vision.3
These churches illustrated a specific moment of Simeon’s rule, namely
the presence in Ohrid and Preslav of two disciples of Saint Cyril and Saint
Methodius, Clement and Nahum, who had arrived in Bulgaria after 885.
Clement gave Prince Boris-Mihail his principal assistance in introducing
the Slavonic liturgy into Southwestern Macedonia and in constructing the
Imaret Djami, a monastery under the patronage of Saint Pantelimon, that
was completed in Ohrid, before 892-893. Later, Clement become a bishop
and started a whole range of missionary actions. He was buried in the new
monastery in 916. Nahum was very active in the new Bulgarian capital,
Preslav. He was, however, buried in another monk’s church, that was built
around the year 900, on the Southern shore of Lake Ohrid. His remains
now lie in the currently existing Church of the Holy Archangels.
These two monastic establishments received the same triconch or
three-apse version of the three-cusped plan of paleo-Christian origins. This
basic plan had been taken up again, as everywhere, in Ninth and Tenth
Century Europe, from the Carolingian Far West to Mount Athos,4 because
of its Trinitarian symbolism (so precise and evocative for the whole corpus
of missionary work that was being undertaken under the sign of the
recently successful Cross against the iconoclasts). The style was also
appreciated for its functional character, as linked to the liturgical service
that had its meaning enhanced in a freshly evangelized territory,
particularly in those services in which pew hymns were sung in the lateral
apses.
Ohrid was the starting point for the spreading throughout of monastic
churches built according to triconch plans that accompanied Slavonic
Orthodox missionary activities between the Eleventh and the Fourteenth
Centuries. They would even be constructed in Macedonia, beside the Holy
Mountain (Castoria), in Bulgaria (Pliska), in the Serbian territories
(Kučevište and a group of churches in the Morava Valley, Starcevo-Gorica),
in Byzantine Dobrudja (Niculiţel), and up to the Walachian lands of the
first Bassarabs and of the Balkan monk Nicodemus before the year 1400
(Vodiţa, Tismana, Cotmeana, Cozia).
Returning to Tenth Century Bulgaria, it is possible to state with
certainty that the sumptuous “round” church in Preslav inaugurated a
fashion around the year 900 of adornment by means of multicoloured
painted ceramics, marble coatings, polychrome pavements, and sculpted
cornices, all of which could be found inside other Tenth Century Preslav
monuments, even if they had been built according to different plans.
3
“Thus, Ohrid had three churches, a cathedral and two other churches built by Clement, much smaller
than the cathedral, but also more beautiful due to their circular shape” (J. P. Migne, 1864, col. 1229).
4
According to C. Margo (1976, p. 359) there is “reason to believe that this influence has nothing to do
with Ohrid, but belongs in fact to the Caucasus”.
56
R. THEODORESCU
As for the other monumentum princeps, that is, Studenica, its posterity
is as undisputed as it is remarkable, since it became a veritable model for
Serbian art in the Thirteenth Century, particularly during the rule of
Milyutin (Stephen Urosh II) (1281-1321). The speciality was iconography
with a particular focus on the cycle devoted to the founder of the Serbian
Kingdom, the Great Zupan Stephen-Simeon, who has been so frequently
mentioned in these pages. The “Byzantine moment”, that has been so
artistically marked by the author of the first frescoes of the major religious
foundation of the Nemanyid Dynasty, established its own posterity,
without the shadow of a doubt, before and after 1250, in Mileševa and Peć,
through the works of “Greek” artists who were crossing Serbia between
1230 and 1260. At this time, Serbian painters could emphasize the value
of their mural paintings thanks to the “Studenica moment”, completed
around the year 1200, which was a sort of artistic trailblazer. In like
manner was Twelfth Century Russian painting, much indebted to another
“Byzantine moment”, the Kiev Saint Sophia church, built by Jaroslav the
Wise.
Stone and brick symbols of Christianization as well as of state and
ecclesiastic beginnings indicate the extent to which architecture is
undoubtedly “the most political of art forms” (R. Scruton, 1973: 327-345).
The monuments dealt with so far belong to very active Eastern European
civilization areas, to certain worlds, which, through the contacts between
the Slav or Slavo-Turanian cultures of migrators, gradually became
sedentary in a region surrounded by the Danube, the Black Sea, and the
Bulgarian Stara Planina, or in Raška and Byzantium. These peoples and
the pre-Romanic Carolingian Empire brought these parts of the continent,
from the Ninth until the Thirteenth Century, to remarkable cultural
developments in the beginning of the Middle Ages.
C. ROMANIAN EXCEPTIONALISM
It is obvious, however, that this tour d’horizon, that was combined with an
attempt at a comparative study meant to bring out some of the common
features of each Southeastern European monumentum princeps,
deliberately left out one geographical area, that of Romania. The reason for
doing so is even more relevant, given the frequent mentioning of the great
and richly adorned monuments in Pliska, Preslav, and Studenica.
The Romanian territories lying between the Carpathian Mountains and
the Danube witnessed the ethnic and cultural genesis of the only Latinderived Eastern European people. Among them, Christianity began
gradually to spread as early as late antiquity, moving toward one of the
Northern borders of the “classic” world, thus making the Carpathian and
Danubian territories part of a chain whereby Rome, its provinces, and the
missionaries of the Eastern Church preached the word of the new faith
between Spain and the Caucasus. By the same token, however,
Romanians were marked by the exceptional historical circumstances, that
during the pre-medieval centuries of huge movements of people, as in the
THE MEDIEVAL STATE AND ARTISTIC GENESES
57
Balkan Peninsula and in Pannonia, their situation was different. They were
not confronted with a situation whereby an old rural Romanized and
Christianized population was overrun by tribes of warriors, horsemen, and
shepherds, i.e., Pagan migrators, who themselves would be later on
Christianized and settled as they willingly and fully settled the new
territories. According to historians of culture, the Romanian lands were the
only ones that did not witness, at the beginning of the Middle Ages, the
construction of rich, ostentatious, and showy monuments intended to
impress the people and also, given the exceptional quality of such edifices,
to speak of a new ideology and mentality, radically different from those of
the nomadic and Pagan age. By comparison, according to these same
historians, none of the monuments that linked the existence of the protoRomanians to the beginning of a Romanian state life was able to suddenly
and dramatically mark a new - an utterly new - page of history. For this
reason, Romanian chroniclers felt no need whatsoever to underline in their
texts the appearance of the most important places related to the
Walachian and Moldavian lay and ecclesiastic feudality.
The Romanian monuments that critically mark the appearance of the
two aforementioned feudal states, the Princely Church in Câmpulung, the
Saint Nicholas Church in Curtea de Argeş, and the Saint Nicholas Church
in Rădăuţi, the three of them the princely necropolises of, respectively, the
Bassarabs, the Bogdanids, and the Muşatins, belong to the Fourteenth
Century. They are thus removed from the Eastern European typological
series with which this study has dealt so far. The Argeş and Suceava state,
church, and metropolitan beginnings, that can be found in the same
Century, are strongly different from Bulgarian, Russian, and Serbian
Orthodox beginnings and are not reflected in the oldest Romanian
chronicles. This latter detail is very significant, for it indicates that such
places were not perceived by the Romanians living during that period as
being unusual or representative of the start of a new age. The Romanians
in question were old Christians who were quite familiar with cult
monuments. It was only in the Seventeenth Century that the Cantacuzino
Annals began to speak of the legendary Radu Negru, who had built, both
in Curtea de Argeş and in Câmpulung, a “large and beautiful” church (M.
Gregorian, 1961, pp. 83-84). These two adjectives, both very plain, simple,
and well balanced, if compared with other descriptions in the texts cited
above, were the only ones used by the chronicler.
The same information is provided at the start of the following Century
by the Grand Headman, Radu Popescu, while, during the same late
medieval age, the first author mentioning a foundation of the other
legendary voivode, Dragoş of Moldavia, seems to have been Nicholas
(Nicolae) Costin. Before him, the Anonymous Annals of Moldavia and
Grigore Ureche’s Annals, only linked the name of Alexander the Good
(Alexandru cel Bun) to certain founding initiatives. And even if it is
discovered that a monument of the Romanian Fourteenth Century, such
as the Saint Nicholas Church in Curtea de Argeş, apparently meets the
basic requirements for an Eastern European monumentum princeps, it is
58
R. THEODORESCU
necessary to consider that the absence of certain basic features that were
identified above, the lack of an ostentatious inner and outer adornment, as
well as, later on, the lack of references to it in chronicles, place the
Carpathian cult edifices in a different aesthetic order and in another
cultural and historical typology.
Yet, this church somewhat resembled the Serbian Studenica in the
sense that it corresponded to a Byzantine-inspired establishment of an
official church in a newly created feudal state. Moreover, it was built
almost at the same time as the formal establishment of Walachia. It
harboured some of the most worshipped relics in Balkan orthodoxy, as
well as the tombs of some of the voivodes of the Bassarab dynasty. It had
an alleged and ephemeral metropolitan role and therefore enjoyed a vague
posterity in the Fourteenth Century through the other Walachian princely
city, i.e., Târgovişte.
This situation was far from springing from an alleged modesty of means
on the part of the Romanian state and the church founders. On the
contrary, in certain historical circumstances, the situation was quite the
opposite. In 1330, Bassarab I gave the Hungarian king a huge amount of
money, while, in 1338, Peter (Petru) I Muşat was a source of credit for the
king of Poland. This specific situation of the voivodal monuments of the
first Romanian Middle Ages, when set in the general Eastern European
picture, is deeply rooted in (and accounted for by) the position, in the
region, of the only medieval Romanity.
Unlike what happened from this standpoint in the “recently Christian”
areas in Eastern Europe, either of Western affiliation, such as Hungary, or
Byzantium-driven, like Russia, to give only two examples from the
immediate territorial neighbourhood of the “Eastern Latinity”, the
Romanians, who were integrated into a perfect continuity of civilization in
an area of Greco-Roman “old Christianity”, were the only people in these
parts of the continent who preserved the structures of a Christian life of
Latin origin dating back to late antiquity and with no eclipses and with a
predominantly folkloristic character.
In contrast, the Turanian and Slavic populations, that had been
nomadic for some time before finally settling on the eve of the
establishment of feudal states, underwent top-down Christianization in the
same periods and sometimes with important territorial conquests that
programmatically triggered off ample and sumptuous artistic achievements
meant to give legitimacy in their own way to a new regnum and also to
have an echo among their contemporaries and for posterity.
In the case of Romanian Christianity, archaeological sources speak of
certain forms of craftsmanship, and also certain written sources refer to
some collective mentalities existing throughout the whole pre-medieval age
until the Eighth and Ninth Century ethnogenesis ends. The picture one
gets is of a sedentary population which, on one hand, had its own
economic and political structures – with ţări turned into ţara - and with
the Fourteenth Century principality set East and South of the
Carpathians, and on the other hand, equally specific art structures. The
THE MEDIEVAL STATE AND ARTISTIC GENESES
59
latter look simple, but are pervaded by a harmonious simplicity of “classic”
descent that can be found in the almost severe, yet so classical walls and
volume of Curtea de Argeş and in the discreet elegance of Cozia - even if
some of these monuments have room for meaningful and “aulic”
architectural, iconographic, and heraldic suggestions coming from the very
heart of imperial Byzantium.
Founders who were familiar with aulic ceremonial decoration and could
compare themselves to what was most “modern and fashionable” in terms
of European smartness had built these churches. They did not need to
adorn such monuments with marble, gold, gems, or rare wood. (Much
later, with a different mentality and in a historical moment having little to
do with the solemn majesty of “state beginnings”, rulers such as Matei
Bassarab, Vasile Lupu, and Constantin Brâncoveanu would massively and
artfully use such materials for their most outstanding monuments.)
Between the Fourth and the Fourteenth Centuries, these traditional art
forms had witnessed a remarkable step-by-step continuity whereby the
blinding pomp lacked any programmatic role and had no connection with
spectacular conversions to Christianity or with the establishment of a state
the subjects of which had all been nomadic until very recently. There was
no need for such a monumentum princeps for Romanians, for Christianity
had been known in Romania for centuries before any attempts were made
at state founding, while state founding itself, as is already well-known, was
the result of certain changes in a community-driven local population who,
given the political structures in Dobrudja, Banat, and Transylvania, as well
as their ancient Daco-Roman ethnic roots, had managed to conceive
ideological, mental, and aesthetic coordinates that were drastically
different from those of the neighbouring peoples. The absence of a
monumentum princeps in the old Romanian civilization thus becomes – in a
European East the basic features of which more than one thousand years
ago had to do with conversions and with policies of “denomadization” – the
proof of a notable cultural persistence.
D. BIBLIOGRAPHY
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du XVème Congrès International des Études Byzantines, Bucharest, 6-12
September, 1971. Vol. 3. Bucharest, 1976, pp. 367-371.
PETROV, P. “La Politique étrangère de la Bulgarie au milieu du neuvième
siècle et la conversion des Bulgares”, Byzantinobulgarica 2 (1966): 4152.
RADOJČIĆ, G. S. “La Date de la conversion des Serbes”, Byzantium 13
(1952): 253-256.
RADOJČIĆ, S. Geschichte der serbischen Kunst: Von den Anfängen bis zum
Ende des Mittelalters. Berlin, 1969.
RADOJČIĆ, S. “Werdendes Europas im frühen und hohen Mittelalter: Die
Austrahlung der byzantinischen Kunst auf die slawischen Länder in der
Zeit von 11 Jahrundert bis zum Jahre 1453”, in, Kunst und Gestchichte
in Südosteuropa. Relinghausen, 1973, pp. 33-50.
SPINKA, M. A History of Christianity in the Balkans: A Study on the Spread of
Byzantine Culture among the Slavs. Chicago, 1933.
STANCHEV, S. “Pliska et Madara dans l’histoire culturelle bulgare”, in, La
culture médiévale.... Sofia, 1961, pp. 26-35.
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III. A Byzantine Model for Political and State
Structure in Southeastern Europe between
the Thirteenth and the Fifteenth Centuries
STELIAN BREZEANU
A. INTRODUCTION
As an inheritor of the political aspects of Rome and of Hellenistic culture,
supported by Christian spirituality, the New Rome was, in the words of the
French scholar, Paul Valéry, the first truly European empire. A perpetuator
of the highest values of ancient civilization, the Byzantine Empire
represented – for as long as it existed – the main political and cultural
model in the Christian world, a true “Versailles of the Middle Ages”.
Its influence can be recognized during the first centuries of the Western
medieval period, particularly so far as the fine arts and political ideology
are concerned. One thing to be noticed, indeed, is that, even as late as the
first centuries of the second millennium, Western “national” monarchies
owed more to Byzantium than to the Western Empire. Yet, the influences
of New Rome were much stronger in Southeastern and Eastern Europe,
owing to a number of specific factors. Here, the Slavic states in the
Balkans came into existence in territories belonging to the Empire. Later
on, territories that had been seized by the Slavs were reintegrated into the
domain of Constantinople and placed under its suzerainty. Additionally,
the Southern and Eastern Slavs were christianized by the Empire. For this
reason, the Slavic churches that had been placed under the authority of
the Oecumenical Patriarchate became important focuses of the influences
of Byzantine civilization. Even in the Romanian Principalities, the
metropolitan churches created by the Constantinople Patriarchate played
the same major part in helping Byzantine models make themselves known
in the Romanian world.
From the political point of view, Byzantine influences are more easily to
be found during the declining years of the Empire, i.e., starting in the
Thirteenth Century. Although these influences appeared at all levels of
political life, they are particularly evident at high rank, as in the domain of
power symbols. The object of this chapter is to assess the scope of these
influences and their role in the political awakening of the states in
question in the area of Byzantine civilization.
The sources used in the development of this topic, while few, if one
considers the extent of the period in question, are highly diverse. The most
important written sources for both Byzantium and for the Orthodox states
are the chancellery papers that are particularly important for
63
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S. BREZEANU
understanding the meaning of the titles of rulers, essential for the study of
political ideology. The accounts of the lives of saints during the Nemanyid
Dynasty, along with the Byzantine, Russian, and Romanian chronicles,
represent the most important narrative sources. Among other types of
sources, numismatic and iconographic objects are particularly useful, for
often enough they will include the specific titles of princes.
The question of the influence of Byzantine models on political life in
Orthodox states has been an object of concern for many academics and
students for more than a century. Among the first significant
investigations, one should mention the work of L. Bréhier (1906) devoted to
imperial institutions and to the concept of autocrator. Substantial research
was also undertaken by F. Dölger (1953, 1956, and 1961) and by G.
Ostrogorsky (1936a, 1936b), two reputed experts on Byzantine issues who
focused on political institutions and on power ranks and symbols. They
also tackled the influence of Constantinople upon political life in Orthodox
states. Finally, during the post-Second World War decades, the most
important contributions to the study of this matter can be found in the
works of D. Obolensky, who also wrote a classic monograph on the
Byzantine Commonwealth (1971).
B. THE IDEA OF UNIVERSAL EMPIRE: THEORY AND REALITY
Before sketching the main elements of the imperial idea in the New Rome,
two preliminary remarks have to be made without which a full
understanding of the concept is not possible. First, one cannot undertake
an analysis of a political concept or theory in the abstract, without relating
it to the specific reality that it influences. All medieval political theories
sprang from a number of philosophical or theological axioms, yet they
developed under the influence of concrete reality that reflected the
consequences of various economic mutations, social disputes, and political
achievements. Consequently, the first concern of this study is the way in
which political theory adjusted to and was shaped by a permanently
changing reality, the relationships between Christian Rome and the
surrounding world being the very domain in which Byzantine political
ideology developed this capacity. At the same time it observes the way in
which theory went beyond the level of reflection to order, or to contribute
to, the formation of certain political structures on behalf of a political ideal.
Second, a distinction has to be made between the tangible existence of
geographically limited rule over several countries and peoples and an idea
that was only typical of the Middle Ages, according to which divinity used
peace and order as the basis for fair rule, whereby this very order, an
image of the heavenly order, represented the world de jure.
In a world in which war and disorder were scourges that made peace
seen to be an imperative of social life, common people perceived this last
idea as “a collective dream, an aspiration for an ideal state of things”,
which they identified as being the Empire, while the political actors viewed
it as a plan of action. As a result, the concept of empire was virtuality,
A BYZANTINE MODEL
65
linked to an ideal of unity and civilization, rather than one of universality
in its territorial reality.
The Empire belongs to God and is managed by the Emperor. Its founder
is not Augustus, but Christ, and at the end of time, it will continue to be a
universal realm in the divine Kingdom of Christ. These were the central
ideas to be found in the hymns with which the people of Constantinople
welcomed the Emperor, on Easter Monday, for more than a thousand
years, and which were preserved for posterity by Emperor Constantine
Porphyrogenitus in his work, De ceremoniis (Book of Ceremonies), a true
monument of Byzantine political ideology (see Porphyrogénète, 1935
edition).
These ideas can be summed up in two words: eternity and universality.
The two concepts are complementary because, as Virgil wrote, “the Empire
is boundless” (imperium sine fine). In other words, spatial infinity was
associated with temporal infinity. Eternity and especially universality
appeared at an ideological and political level and were historically
constructed. In theory they implied the unity of the human race as a divine
product, while on practical grounds, they presupposed the aspiration of
political unification of the inhabited world (oikoumene).
The two concepts were first noted in the Hellenistic world, the common
civilization of which acquired its logical framework in the monarchy (taken
in the etymological meaning of the word) of Alexander the Great. According
to the Stoics, the theorists of the new organizational formula of the world,
it was the duty of the monarch to shape the terrestrial political order as a
reflection of the cosmic order. A few centuries later, the new order (pax
Romana) would once again be best theorized by the Stoics, and after the
decline of their philosophy, by the Neoplatonists.
At this point, it would be helpful to highlight the part played by the
political achievements of the city on the Tiber in making possible the idea
of universality in Roman ideology. As was very persuasively proved by J.
Vogt (1929), the aspiration of Rome to an orbis Romanus, to universality, is
the historical product of so-called Weltherschaft, i.e., the conquests of the
Romans on the ruins of the Hellenistic Mediterranean world within
Augustus’s Principality.
The creation of Christian monarchy by Constantine the Great and his
successors, the most important event in Roman history after Augustus’s
initiative, was the basis of Byzantine political ideology. Its founder and
obviously most reputed theorist was Eusebius of Caesarea. The
fundamental text of his theoretical construct is Triakontaeterikos, written
in 336, on the celebration of three decades of Constantinian rule and on
the opening of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem. Some of the
political ideas in this text also appear in other works of the Caesarea
bishop (Praeparatio, Demonstratio evengelica, and Vita Constantini).
Eusebius’s central theological and philosophical theses are the following:
the cosmos as basileia and monarchia; the mimesis of “the Great Basileus”
(God) as a prerequisite of cosmic harmony and a source of the earthly
basileia. In other words, terrestrial order is the mirror image of cosmic
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S. BREZEANU
order: since there is one Kingdom and one Law in Heaven, there should
also be one Emperor and one Law on earth. On the other hand, in
Eusebius’s vision of the founding of the Christian Empire, the idea of
mimesis is critical to fully understanding his political theory, alternatively
referred to as “political philosophy” (Francis Dvornik, 1962), “imperial
religion” (L. Bréhier, 1906), or, more appropriately, “political theology” (E.
Peterson, 1934). In this vision, the Emperor is a hyparchos (a regent or a
lieutenant) of “the Great Basileus” on earth, guarantor of earthly harmony,
and provider of cosmic harmony. The Emperor had to rule over the whole
terrestrial kingdom; he was “the helmsman of the universal ship”, “the
father and the master of the universe”.
This idea, that was fully developed by the Fifth and Sixth Century
theorists, actually gave rise to a genuine political action plan for the
emperors of the New Rome, the mission of which it was to preach the faith
in a redemptive God to all the peoples of the world. In its first phase, this
mission assumed an internal dimension, the conversion of all subjects to
Christianity. Once this mission had been accomplished internally, it was to
continue for the benefit of barbarian nations, thus expanding the borders
of the faith in Christ and of the Roman Empire. In this vision, the borders
of the Empire were conceived as the limits of Christianity. Any expansion
was a new conquest for the faith, just as any expansion of the Church
outside the Empire following missionary activity potentially stood for a new
acquisition of Christian Rome. In this way, the Emperor was perceived as
the first missionary of belief in Christ. Pax Romana would thus merge with
Pax Christiana and result in a deeply original outlook, the Pax Byzantina.
Constantine and his successors accordingly became agents of the idea of
divine monarchy, and their political action was at the same time a
missionary one. This perceived role meant that both the Empire and the
Emperor were invested with apostolic and charismatic responsibilities.
These ideas were prevalent in Byzantine political thinking for eleven
centuries. Yet, in practice, they took account of various achievements and
adjustments depending upon the actual possibilities of the Empire. The
same possibilities also conditioned the echoes of Byzantine ideology
beyond its borders. From the standpoint of the political achievements of
imperial ideology and of its influence on the surrounding world, several
stages can be identified in the evolution of political ideas in the New Rome.
The first stage covers the three centuries separating the founding of
Christian monarchy by Constantine from the Arab expansion, which
reduced the Byzantine Empire to its core territory, Asia Minor. During this
period, the grounds for a Byzantine imperial theology were laid, with the
decisive contribution of Constantine, but also, from a political point of
view, with that of Justinian, when he made a major attempt to restore the
old Orbis Romanus.
At the level of real policy, these two events had a meaning that was
strongly militant. Following Constantine’s action, the North-Danubian
region, as well as other regions, successively came into the political and
cultural orbit of the Empire, thanks to the successful missionary work
A BYZANTINE MODEL
67
accomplished by the Church. Christian missionary activity and imperial
policy went hand in hand everywhere, both in terms of motivation for the
spreading of the faith and of the results obtained. In its turn, Justinian’s
work was dictated by political motives, but could also be considered as
beneficial for an Orthodoxy which was actually in a position to recover
territories that had lapsed into Paganism. In the words of one of the
Constantinople Church representatives, Orthodoxy brought back peace
and understanding to the faithful.
What were the echoes of this world of ideas beyond the boundaries of
the Byzantine world? The barbarian kingdoms established on the territory
of the former empire in the West felt that they belonged to the allencompassing Roman community. At a higher level, barbarian kings found
that they could legitimate their power through affiliation to the civilized
world of the New Rome on the Bosphorus. Even taking anti-Byzantine
attitudes into account, they were thought of (and they thought of
themselves) as representatives of the Empire in the conquered territories.
Ranks and power symbols of Roman origin awarded by Constantinople
could be found throughout the barbarian world, even in the Mediterranean
Germanic states, re-conquered by Justinian. They were also held by
Frankish, Burgundian, and even insular Anglo-Saxon kings, as well as by
Christian kings in the Caucasus and by the rulers of the Ethiopian
Kingdom of Axum. The world supremacy of Christian Rome had never
been more real in terms of both actual rule and of economic, cultural, and
ideological influence.
The next two centuries, from the Islamic conquests to the mid-Ninth
Century, were a defensive period in the policy of an empire forced to mount
guard on all its borders and to surrender most of its provinces. In the new
circumstances, the doctrine of universal vocation and of Byzantine world
supremacy failed to attract supporters. “The homeland” (patria) and
“Orthodoxy” were incorporated into the political ideology of Constantinople
as new values that enlivened the populations of the Anatolian plateaux to
which the Empire was indebted for having helped overcome the Seventh
Century crisis. Reduced to its Greek population core, the New Rome
became a Greek “national” empire, while Orthodoxy turned itself into a
national religion. The mere idea of an offensive policy was out of the
question. Constantinople only acted offensively toward the Slavic
communities in Thrace, Southern Macedonia, and Greece, attempting to
integrate them into its political and cultural system. As Empire foederats,
Slavic tribes were converted to Christianity and subsequently underwent a
slow process of assimilation.
From the standpoint of the evolution of Byzantine ideology, the period
between the victory of the iconoclasts and the Fourth Crusade (1204) is a
distinct stage, characterized by a forward looking policy, which culminated
in the “Byzantine épopée” of the Tenth and Eleventh Centuries. This new
militancy in the foreign policy of the Byzantine state was legitimized by the
singleness and the universality of the New Rome, which was put forward,
once again, by Byzantine political theorists after centuries of silence. The
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S. BREZEANU
European political picture, however, had undergone spectacular changes
during the Byzantine power eclipse between the Seventh and the Ninth
Centuries. During the same period, the West had witnessed the
establishment of several Christian kingdoms and of the Carolingian
Empire, followed by the German Empire.
Slavic states and the Hungarian Kingdom had also been founded or
were on the verge of being set up in Southeastern and Eastern Europe. For
this reason and displaying an admirable capacity to adjust, Byzantine
political ideology ceased to claim world supremacy as per the outlook of
Constantine and Justinian. It preferred now to choose a type of political
doctrine that provided the New Rome with supremacy in the Christian
world and turned Constantinople into a legitimating factor in the political
world of the time. In other words, political doctrine now spoke of the
“Family of Kings” according to which Christian princes formed a spiritual
family led by the Constantinople Emperor, the authority of whom was, in
the vision of Patriarch Nicholas the Mystic, “above all terrestrial forces and
the only power instituted on earth by the heavenly lord” (in, J. P. Migne,
1864, p. 165, C-D). Consequently, the Basileus was the “spiritual father” of
all Christian princes, while in their turn, these princes were his “brothers”,
“sons”, or “subjects” (douloi). A veritable ceremonial, described down to its
tiniest details by Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus, was devised for the
welcoming of foreign envoys to Constantinople, with strict observance of
the place granted by the Emperor to each and every state in a fictitious
political hierarchy.
The means by which Byzantium secured recognition for its supremacy
in the Christian world went as far back as the periods of rule of
Constantine and Justinian. The most frequent (and at any rate the most
productive) means was the obligation of all states to experience – by force,
if necessary – Orthodox Christianization. It was by such means that the
Bulgarian Czardom, the Serbian Kingdom, and the Great Principality of
Kiev joined, one after the other, what Obolensky (1971) has called the
“Byzantine Commonwealth“. There were also cases in which
Constantinople gave certain symbols of power to Christian principalities,
like, for instance, the famous crown delivered to the King of Hungary.
Finally, when feasible, Constantinople used the Macedonian soldieremperors to actually conquer the Balkan Peninsula and spoke of this
policy as belonging to the doctrine of “reinsertion” into the Roman Empire
of territories previously overrun and conquered by barbarians.
What was the response of Christian princes to claims of world
supremacy on the part of Constantinople? In a first stage, the new doctrine
– along with its political implications – seems to have been accepted in the
Christian world. The strongest confirmation came from sources linked to
the beginnings of the Carolingian Empire. While Pope Leo III conceived of
the Aachen empire as a sort of “counter-empire” to the Bosphorus New
Rome, Frankish doctrine as expressed by Eginhard (1923) claimed the
status of a local Frankish empire, while Charlemagne wanted recognition
as holding the title of Emperor and dutifully agreed to belong to the
A BYZANTINE MODEL
69
“Family of Kings” led by the “Roman Emperors” and to be given the rank of
“Brother”. A century and a half later, Otto the Great more or less claimed
the same status for his empire.
The Bulgarian ruler, Czar Boris, accepted into the same “Family of
Kings” following Christianization, received the rank of “Beloved Son”,
shared with the Christian kings of Tenth and Eleventh Century Armenia.
Venetian doges and Serbian princes accepted the titles of imperial “douloi”.
In the next stage, however, this position of Byzantium in the Christian
world was questioned and even became a point of contention. The first
disputes erupted in the West and concerned Charlemagne’s successors,
who, assuming the agenda of the Pontifical Empire, acquired the title of
“Emperor of the Romans”, and questioned the status of the Constantinople
Basileus. But these negative reactions lacked practical significance, given
the weaknesses of the last of the Carolingians. Far more serious was the
questioning coming from Czar Simeon, who in his turn annexed the title of
“Romans’ Basileus”. Indeed, he tried to replace the Constantinople
Basileus by force.
The most important attempt to create a rival empire took place in the
Twelfth Century in the West, when Frederick Barbarossa, in contact with
reborn Roman law and with Justinian’s political ideas, claimed the whole
Roman inheritance for himself, adding “Holy” to his title in 1155 and
denying the title of “Roman Emperor” to his Bosphorus rivals, conceding
them, instead, the title of “King of the Greeks”. Moreover, Barbarossa and
his son, Henry VI, came close to implementing a plan for the conquest and
the annexation of the Byzantine Empire.
The two centuries between the Fourth Crusade and the Ottoman
conquest of Constantinople form the last stage in the evolution of
Byzantine imperial ideology. This stage was first dominated by an offensive
policy intended to contribute to the reconquest of Greek territories that
had been occupied by the Latins in 1204. This ideology was later
characterized by a defensive survival policy in the face of fearsome
opponents. In the new historical conditions, the doctrines of the
uniqueness of the Empire and of its world supremacy were given up for
good. At the same moment, Byzantine political ideology proved its huge
power to adjust to changing political realities. The organizational formula
of the Greek world after 1204 offers a most important argument in this
respect.
At the beginning of the Thirteenth Century, when the Empire crumbled
into several principalities and a Latin empire was established in
Constantinople, Theodore Lascaris announced from Nicaea his agenda for
the reconstitution of the old imperial unity. He formulated the slogan, “Let
there be one flock and one shepherd again”. This programme for the
restoration of monarchy in its Greek expression, with the relinquishing of
Balkan Slavic territories, is all-pervasive in the political actions of the
Lascarid emperors and of Michael Palaeologus. But even this minimal
agenda proved to be beyond the means of both of them.
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Thus, to preserve the idea of imperial unity, a new formula was born:
the family of Greek states propagated by the Constantinople Palaeologi.
Equally significant for the flexibility of Byzantine political thinking was the
fact that the heads of the Constantinople Church tried to preserve the
position of the temporal leaders of the New Rome in the Orthodox world by
the authority that the Oecumenical Patriarchate continued to have in
Eastern Christianity. The Patriarch repeatedly invoked the ideal of
civilization epitomized by Orthodoxy and its institutional structures in
order to keep alive a shakier than ever ideal of political unity. This period
was one during which Southeastern European states, that were outside
the Empire, were no longer afraid of the response of a dying empire. They
not only annexed its Balkan territories, but also – more than ever – its
imperial qualifications and power symbols, or, in other words, the
Byzantine state model.
1. Titles
The titles of medieval princes were the expression of a political ideology
and, frequently, of a claimed theory. Both elements can be found in the
titles of Byzantine sovereigns: world emperors, whose power came from
heaven and who were direct successors of Roman caesars. Until the
Seventh Century, their titles were a continuation of the titles of Roman
emperors, with the proviso that the sovereigns of New Rome were required
to confess their faith in Christ. The major change took place in 629, with
the appearance of the title of basileus, which from this moment onwards
had the meaning of “world emperor”.
The event has generated long-lasting controversies among many experts
in the field. For most historians, the appearance of the new imperial title
and its later career are perceived as a consequence of the so-called
Hellenization of the Byzantine world following the ethnic mutations of the
Seventh Century. The coronation of Charlemagne in 800 produced a
response in Constantinople in terms of the titles of sovereigns by the
introduction of the concept of “imperial” people. From then on, the
Emperor of New Rome would be the “Romans’ Basileus” (Basileus ton
Rhomaion). This designation, in fact, served as a denunciation of the
perceived Frankish usurpation of the imperial title and of the lack of
legitimacy identified in Western political creation. But the components of
the old titles of the Roman emperors did not suddenly vanish from the
titles of the Constantinople basilei. Imperator, augustus, caesar, dominus,
despotes, and other titles appeared more or less until the Eleventh
Century.
It was only toward the Mid-Eleventh Century, following almost two
hundred years of hesitation, that the titles of the Byzantine emperors
achieved their classical form: “[name of the Emperor] in Christ, the Son of
God faithful Basileus and Autocrator of the Romans”. But even after this
moment, the titles of emperors still varied in terms of the nature and the
destination of the sources by which they were conveyed to posterity. In
A BYZANTINE MODEL
71
their classical forms, they could be seen in formal documents that were
sent by sovereigns to foreign princes, in which they played a distinctively
propagandistic role. The same form and role were to be found in that of the
chrysobulls distributed by the emperors to religious establishments.
Finally, such titles were also identifiable in certain imperial miniatures,
probably because of the same propaganda role that they were called upon
to play. On the other hand, so far as current domestic documents were
concerned, the titles were considerably less questions of protocol, as in
“basileus”, “Romans’ basileus”, “Romans’ autocrator, despotes”, and so on.
The same could be said of acclaiming and cheering, as recorded by
Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus, as well as in historical and political
writings, and in inscriptions on coins, medals, and enameled objects.
An attempt to analyze each title element in its classical form yields the
following:
The phrase, “[name of the Emperor] in Christ the Son of God faithful
(and Orthodox)” was an innovation obviously made possible only after the
Christianization of Constantine the Great. It was definitely documented in
the Sixth Century. It certainly came up during the Fifth and Sixth Century
Christological disputes and represented solid evidence for the fidelity to
Christian faith and Orthodox dogma after emperors had been obliged by
the Church (ever since the Fifth Century) to sign a written oath on
coronation day. In fact, the phrase had a meaning that was even more
profound. Ever since the rule of the first Christian Emperor, it reflected the
belief that the Empire of the Romans was the only power established by
God on earth and that the source of power of its sovereigns was Christ, the
son of God. Perhaps it is not a mere coincidence that in many imperial
documents the adjective, “faithful” (pistos) disappeared, while the idea of
the divine origin of the Emperor’s power is clear from the very title: “[Name
of the Emperor] in Christ the son of God Basileus”. Hence the belief that
the New Rome was the center of the legitimacy of all temporal powers in
the medieval Christian world. Hence also the tendency of Byzantine
sovereigns to justify their supreme position inside the “Family of Kings”, as
well as the title of “spiritual father” of all Christian princes.
The title, basileus, that first appeared in 629 as a replacement for
imperator, has a long history in the ancient world. In Greek writings, it
designated kings ruling in the archaic, classical, Hellenistic, and finally
Roman periods. At the same time, it was used to indiscriminately
designate all the kings in the Barbaricum. In parallel, the word also
appears in philosophical and religious (including Christian) texts to
designate the concept of “monarch” in its abstract meaning, as well as
divinity itself. It is highly probable that it is in this usage that one should
look for the source of the 629 innovation and for the new meaning
acquired by the title, basileus, connoting unique and universal power of a
divine origin. Even if Constantinople was later compelled (often by force) to
grant the title of basileus to certain foreign princes – Western emperors
and Bulgarian czars – the political doctrine protected the uniqueness of the
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sovereign of New Rome, explainable by the fact that he was the one and
only “Romans’ Basileus”.
Autocrator, the other classic title, had the longest and the most
interesting evolution for the purposes of this study. It went back as far as
certain Sixth Century Greek texts in which it was thought to serve as a
substitute for the title of imperator. In the succeeding centuries, it played
the part of an adjective accompanying the “basileus” and “caesar” titles
(autokrator basileus and autokrator caesar). Starting in the Tenth Century,
if not earlier, autocrator also appeared as a noun in the title, next to
basileus (basileus kai autokrator), in a form that would become
permanently set in the following period. The meaning of the title became
“absolute ruler” or “supreme ruler”, i.e., synonyms for despotes and megas
basileus. It is no mere coincidence that the word is particularly found in
the titles of emperors who had associates or co-emperors. In such a
situation, the title only applied to the main basileus (autokrator basileus)
who was also the “megas basileus”. It was not applied to his colleagues,
who were simply basileis. But this practice was not consistent, especially
when the throne associates were father and son. In such cases, both of
them were called “autocrators” or “megaloi basileis”.
Finally, one wonders if this innovation of turning the adjective into a
noun in Tenth and Eleventh Century imperial titles should not be linked to
the increasingly frequent foreign contestations occurring when South Slav
and Western Christian sovereigns usurped the supreme title. In this form,
the title reflected Byzantine doctrine according to which the basileus, “as a
representative of God, was the only ruler of the world, with the duty and
the right to supremely rule over this world in temporal and spiritual
matters” (F. Dölger, 1953). In other words, the title of autocrator stressed
even more emphatically the top place of the basileus in the “Family of
Kings” and the inferior position of all the other princes in the Christian
world. At the same time, at least commencing from the Eleventh Century,
the title was linked to the sharp decline of imperial authority within the
Byzantine state.
2. Symbols of Power
External signs of power were meant to underline, alike for domestic
subjects and foreigners in a visible way, the supreme sovereignty and the
divine origin of the imperial authority. In the transition from Augustus’s
Principality to the domination of Diocletian and Constantine, and then to
the Greek monarchy of divine origin, these signs became increasingly
numerous, either borrowed from Eastern monarchies, or inspired by
Christianity.
One of the most important symbols was the golden tiara with pearls
and a cross, which replaced the golden necklace of Roman caesars. The
tiara used to be received from the Patriarch during coronation, in a rite,
which was first considered auxiliary in relationship to the election of the
emperor according to constitutional factors. Later, when election by the
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73
Senate, the people, and the army was ritualized, coronation at the hands
of the patriarch acquired an exceptional practical significance. Therefore,
one should not be surprised that this act, a symbol of the divine origin of
imperial power, was to be externally perceived as a capital moment for the
prince’s consecration, especially because foreigners had almost no
knowledge of the Roman tradition whereby the Emperor’s power was
delegated to him by the people. Indeed, Byzantine emperors themselves,
who cultivated this belief in divine kingship, sent crowns to Christian
princes, thus acknowledging their supreme majesty and their exclusive
right to consecrate princes into the “Family of Kings”. The first mention of
a crown (stephanos) given to a Christian prince dates from the Sixth
Century, but the best known is, to this day, the crown of the Hungarian
kings sent by Emperor Michael VII to Geza I in 1075. It can be assumed,
even if there are no historical documents to prove it, that other princes
belonging to the political community of the Basileus also received crowns
from the Constantinople sovereigns.
Another power symbol was the red and gold colour of objects having to
do with emperors and, in certain cases, with imperial family members.
Both the mantle and the footwear chosen for coronation were red. Emperor
Leo VI later made it a habit for the children of imperial couples to be born
in a room lined with purple silk, whence the epithet porphyrogenitus (born
in the purple) given to all the babies delivered in such conditions. Red was
also the colour of the ink which the Emperor used to sign and to date the
official papers of his chancellery. Indeed, this practice became a monopoly
as instituted by a 470 edict issued by Emperor Leo I. Sometimes even the
parchment on which important documents were written was colored red,
but in such cases the ink was golden. Both the Emperors and their
families were portrayed in red, in mosaics and in miniatures.
Gold was another symbol of the “Romans’ Basileis”. The gold coins,
issued by Constantine the Great and recognized as a medieval standard for
a thousand years, was the most palpable sign of the universal authority of
the Emperor in the eyes of their subjects and of foreign peoples. Highly
revealing in this respect is an anecdote left for posterity by the Greek
traveler, Cosmas Indicopleustes in the Sixth Century (1909).
The King of Ceylon did not have to take any pains to settle a dispute
between a Persian ambassador and a Byzantine merchant in regard to
universal rule. The issue was resolved with reference to the power symbols
of the sovereigns. The Emperor’s gold coin was thought to be of better
value than the silver drachma of the “Great Kings”. The seal affixed to
official documents issued by the imperial chancellery and called
chrysobulloi logoi i.e., diploma with a gold seal – the so-called khrisovs of
Romanian medieval chancelleries – was also made of gold.
Finally, other important symbols of the universal sovereignty of the
Basileus were related to the writing of imperial acts addressed to foreign
princes and thus having a propagandistic role. As was already mentioned,
they were signed and dated by the Emperor in red or in gold and bore the
print of the golden seal. The writing material was also the object of an
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imperial monopoly. Until the Ninth Century, documents were written first
on papyrus, then on parchment. Later, in parallel with the decline of the
Empire, they started again to be written on paper.
These symbols, that were intended to impress foreigners, were among
the first to be taken over by Christian princes when they usurped titles
and prerogatives previously belonging to the Constantinople Basileus.
C. RECEPTION OF THE MODEL
1. The Case of Bulgaria
The entry of Bulgaria into the Byzantine community took place in 865
when Boris and his people were Christianized and when the ruler assumed
the title of czar (from the Latin, caesar). But Boris, the successor of Crum
and Omurtag, was clearly aware of the identity of his state and did not
accept the subordinate position intended for him by the Constantinople
Basileus. Solid evidence of his awareness can be derived from his efforts to
obtain the best possible terms for his state and church. He argued that the
title, czar, conferred power on him equal to that of the Byzantine Emperor.
And he participated in the diplomatic games between Rome and
Constantinople following his Christianization.
Boris’s successor, the famous Simeon (893-927), went beyond a
defensive policy in regard to the Empire. He opted for an offensive policy
and developed an imperial programme of his own to its fullest extent. The
basis for his political outlook was not only the Turanian tradition, as had
been developed by Crum and Omurtag with a view to the establishment of
a Balkan empire on the ruins of Byzantium, but also the political
education that he had received in Constantinople over the years during
which he had been a hostage at the court of the Basileus. From the very
beginning, Simeon addressed the Byzantine issue in very strong terms and
was consequently conceded the title of basileus, but only as the
“Bulgarians’ Basileus”. However, the Preslav czar was thoroughly
acquainted with Byzantine political doctrine and could not ignore the
difference between the oecumenical character of the authority of the
“Romans’ Basileus” and the local power character of a “Bulgarians’
Basileus”.
After several failed attempts to become a basileus in Constantinople
through diplomatic means, Simeon returned to a policy of force, attacking
Constantinople and taking the title of “Romans’ Basileus” or “Romans and
Bulgarians’ Basileus”. Patriarch Nicholas the Mystic denounced Simeon’s
usurpation (calling it tyrania and apostasia) as well as denouncing the
ahistorical and illegal nature of his title.
The dispute between Simeon and Byzantium went much farther than a
quarrel over a mere title. The violent and sanguinary conflict, that ranged
for more than three decades and involved Preslav and Constantinople, was
for far higher stakes, thus casting a light on the intentions of all the
medieval sovereigns who attempted to conquer the Bosphorus metropole.
Their aims too were to become “Emperors of the Romans” in the very heart
A BYZANTINE MODEL
75
of Constantinople. Simeon’s son and successor, Peter, who married a niece
of Byzantine Emperor Romanus Lecapenus, was thus conceded the title of
“Bulgarians’ Basileus” and managed to implicitly integrate into the
Byzantine hierarchy with the rank of “Beloved Son”, leading also to the
raising of the head of the Bulgarian Church from Archbishop to Patriarch.
The vision of the relationship between the two fundamental institutions of
the medieval state, which was defined three centuries later by Pope
Innocent III in his correspondence with Czar Ioniţă (Kaloyan) – imperium
sine patriarcha non staret – was materialized in an equality of rank
between the head of the Bulgarian Church and its temporal sovereign. Yet,
according to Constantinople, a firm distinction existed between the local
nature of the powers of the Preslav czar plus those of the local patriarch,
on one hand, and the universal character of imperial authority and of the
sacerdocy of New Rome, on the other.
Half a century later (in 972) after the successful war against Knez
Sviatoslav, Emperor John I Zimisces conquered Bulgaria and reestablished
the border of the Empire on the Danube. On this occasion, he also did
away with the Bulgarian Czardom and Patriarchate, thus putting an end
to Bulgarian “tyranny”. But only a few years later, Samuel was to take over
the political tradition of Simeon and Peter and to reestablish both the
Bulgarian Czardom and Patriarchate in the Western part of the Peninsula.
The most important event of this episode, in terms of the progress made by
the Bulgarian idea of statehood before Bulgarian resistance collapsed in
1018, was the fact that John Vladislav, the last Ohrid czar, assumed the
title of Autocrator, which represented a whole political agenda in itself,
aimed at rejecting all Byzantine claims for the integration of the czardom
into the state hierarchy of Constantinople and at asserting the sovereign
nature of his power.
After almost two centuries of Byzantine domination in the Balkans, the
year 1185 witnessed the uprising of the Haemus Vlachs and Bulgarians,
ending with the establishment of the Târnovo Czardom that was
successively ruled by the three Vlach brothers, Peter Asen, John Asen, and
Ioniţă (Kaloyan). From the very start, the new czardom indulged in the
Byzantine political tradition. Nicetas Choniates (in, Choniates, 1975) wrote
that, after his first victories, Peter placed a golden crown on his head and
opted for red footwear. This last detail is directly evocative of the regalia of
the New Rome. The youngest brother, Ioniţă, proclaimed himself Imperator
Bulgarorum et Blachorum and Constantinople denied him any recognition
of this title, when he addressed Rome. But after a long exchange of letters
between Târnovo and Rome, Pope Innocent III also refused to accept the
Czar’s claim and only recognized the title of Rex Bulgarorum et Blachorum
after Ioniţă had been solemnly crowned by a Roman cardinal. A significant
fact regarding this occasion was the common stance taken by Rome and
Constantinople, both carriers of the political traditions of Constantine and
Justinian, and only willing to recognize one universal and Roman emperor.
Equally interesting is the point made by the Pope who, after raising the
Târnovo Church to the rank of an archbishopric, rejected the claim of the
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Balkan sovereign on the grounds that “there cannot be an empire without
a patriarch”.
During this first stage of the Târnovo Czardom, its sovereigns acted
defensively in relationship to Constantinople and claimed recognition of
the supreme title in a territory taken by force from Byzantine rule. A
quarter of a century later, in favourable historical conditions, John Asen II
embarked on an offensive policy, thus continuing Simeon’s tradition. He
removed his Church from the authority of Rome and crushed the troops of
the Greek Basileus of Salonika in the 1230 Battle of Klokotnitsa, thus
expanding his rule in the Western and Southern parts of the peninsula,
where most of the inhabitants were Greek. As arbiter of the Balkan
political scene, John Asen solemnly proclaimed himself “in Christ the son
of God faithful Czar and Autocrator of Bulgarians and Greeks” in Slavonic,
as well as “Basileus and Autocrator of Romans and Bulgarians” in Greek.
Moreover, he issued a gold coin and established a Byzantine-inspired
hierarchy of ranks in Târnovo, where the top positions were held by
despotes, sebastocrators, and caesars.
But the dream of John Asen (as well as of Simeon) was to be crowned
as the Roman and universal Basileus in Constantinople. The first success
in this direction took place in 1235, when the Târnovo Church was turned
into the seat of a Patriarchate by the Nicaea Oecumenical Patriarch. But
the carrying out of this entire imperial agenda failed when confronted with
the opposition of John III Vatatzes, the new Nicaean statesman, whose
political aim was to restore the unity of the Comnenoi Dynasty and to
reconquer the New Rome from the Latins.
After the death of John Asen II in 1241, the Bulgarian Czardom began
its decline because of heavy attacks, first from the Tartars, and then from
the Serbian Kingdom. Moreover, during the Fourteenth Century several
autonomous principalities chose to detach themselves from the Czardom.
In spite of these problems, Constantinople still considered the Târnovo
sovereign to be a “Bulgarians’ Basileus” and a “beloved son”, belonging to a
“Family of Princes” led by the Byzantine Emperor. Yet, even in these
conditions, Czar John Alexander (1331-1371) returned to the political
tradition of Simeon and John Asen and claimed universal power.
A number of miniatures from manuscripts written at Czar John
Alexander’s court depict him with all the regalia of a universal basileus,
flanked by Jesus Christ and St. John the Baptist. The same political idea
can be identified in the title that he assumed: “Czar and Autocrator of
Bulgarians and Greeks”. But the times had changed: In terms of real
policy, the Czar could no longer follow in the steps of Simeon and John
Asen II and attempt to conquer Tzarigrad (the Slavonic designation for
Constantinople). It was for this reason that John Alexander’s panegyrists
proclaimed Târnovo the “New Tzarigrad” (Novy Tzarigrad). In their vision, a
translatio imperii, from Constantinople to Târnovo, was thus taking place.
But less than a quarter of a century after the Czar’s death, the Târnovo
state had ceased to exist, and the Balkans had entered a new age, that of
Ottoman domination, that would last for five centuries.
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77
2. The Serbian Experience
The Raška Principality was the core of the future Nemanyid State. A vassal
of the Empire during the Eleventh and the Twelfth Centuries, the
Principality became independent after the death of Emperor Manuel I
Comnenus in 1180, when the Great Zupan, Stephen Nemanya, broke all
the bonds of vassalage to Constantinople. A few years later, his son
Stephen married the daughter of Emperor Isaac II Angelus, who gave him
the title of sebastocrator. This step was the first one marking the entrance
of Serbia into the “Family of Princes” presided by the Basileus. In 1196, the
Great Zupan delegated his power to his son, Sebastocrator Stephen (11961228), who was the real founder of the Serbian medieval state.
Stephen would take advantage of the important changes in the power
relationships produced by the fall of Constantinople in 1204 as the result
of Latin attacks, the crumbling of the Byzantine political scene in the first
decades of the Thirteenth Century, and the Catholic offensive in
Southeastern Europe. Finding itself in a region in which the political and
religious interests of the Latin and the Byzantine world came into contact
with one another, the Serbian Kingdom vacillated between the West and
Byzantium in order to preserve its political and cultural identity and to
strengthen its international position, profiting from all favourable
circumstances. In 1217, Stephen Nemanya obtained the royal crown from
Pope Honorius III. In this way, Serbia became a kingdom, and its
sovereign, known to world history as Stephen the-first-crowned
(Prvovecani). Only two years later, however, Stephen’s brother, the famous
Sava, who was later sanctified, persuaded the Byzantine Oecumenical
Patriarch to create an archbishopric for the Serbian Church. Undergoing
both an Orthodox and a Catholic christening, having a kingdom integrated
into the Western political hierarchy and a church belonging to the
Oecumenical Patriarchate of New Rome, the Nemanyids proved, from the
very beginning, the vocation of Serbia as a bridge between the West and
the East in the Christian world. Soon enough, Stephen Prvovecani also
adopted the Byzantine idea of a temporal state. By a 1220 diploma, he
proclaimed himself “with God’s mercy, King (Kralj) and Autocrator of the
Serbs”. His annexation of the source of divine power and mainly his
adoption of the title, Autocrator, represent an open assertion of the
sovereign nature of his power in relation to that of the neighbours of the
Serbian Kingdom.
During the reigns of his successors, thanks to increasingly vast
economic resources and an obvious cultural development, the reputation
of the kingdom of the Nemanyids never ceased to grow. Stephen Milyutin
(Stephen Urosh II, 1282-1321), Stephen Prvovecani’s most important
successor, opened a new stage in the policy of the kingdom, reconquering
the Macedonian metropole of Skopje and turning it into the capital city of
the kingdom. By means of the Southern expansion of Serbia into
Byzantine territories, Stephen Milyutin was actually opening up his state
to Greek influences, which would be more important after the King
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married Simonis, the niece of Emperor Andronicus II. Serbia was coming
to occupy an increasingly important position in the “Family of Kings” of
Byzantium, the sovereign of which was – for the Skopje court – “New
Rome’s Universal Emperor” and “Andronicus, the Universal Orthodox
Emperor”.
A new page in the reception of the Byzantine political model by Serbian
sovereigns was written by Stephen Dushan (Stephen Urosh IV), (13311355). Growing up in Constantinople, like Simeon of Bulgaria before him,
Dushan assimilated Byzantine political and cultural education in its
purest form. When he acceded to the throne, his kingdom was ready to
become the most significant power in Southeastern Europe, especially
after the great 1330 Velbuzhde victory over the Bulgarians and the
Byzantines. After the annexation of the Western parts of the Bulgarian
Czardom, Dushan next conquered the Byzantine territories in the Western
and the Southern parts of the peninsula, so that he was entitled to
proclaim himself “Ruler of almost all the Roman Empire“. In this way,
Dushan was prepared to take over the imperial agenda in its full format. In
1345, he proclaimed himself “Basileus and Autocrator of Serbia and
Romania” (i.e., New Rome) in Greek, as well as “Czar and Autocrat of the
Serbs and the Greeks” in Slavonic. One year later, he proclaimed the
raising of his archbishop to the rank of “Patriarch of Serbs and Greeks”
and was then formally crowned as Emperor in Skopje by the recently
named Patriarch.
Constantinople had a violent response to Dushan’s double usurpation.
The Serbian Patriarch and Emperor were excommunicated by the
Oecumenical Patriarch, who broke off all relationships with the Serbian
Church for the next three decades. But not even the attitude of
Constantinople could prevent Dushan, who was extremely confident in the
strength of his arms, from bringing to fruition a political agenda the
principal lines of which were the following: to establish an imperial court
hierarchy led by despotes, sebastocrators, and caesars, to set up a
Byzantine-inspired chancellery able to help him issue official documents
bearing the gold bulla and the Emperor’s signature in red ink, to exert
patronage over the monasteries of Mount Athos, and – in an imperial
gesture, following the line traced by Justinian and Leo VI the Wise, not to
be found in the attitude of the Bulgarian medieval sovereigns – to write a
legal code: the famous Zakonnik, first drawn up in 1349 and later revised
in 1354.
In spite of all these decidedly imperial acts, Dushan’s attitude toward
Constantinople did not lack ambiguity. He proclaimed himself the Roman
“successor” (nastavnik) to the Roman Emperor and agreed to the liturgical
commemoration of his name after that of the Basileus of the Athos
monasteries. In both cases, Dushan praised the legitimacy of the universal
sovereign of New Rome.
After Dushan’s death, his political edifice collapsed in less time than
had been needed to construct it. It crumbled into a few states: a restricted
empire in which the title of czar was perpetuated until 1371 by Dushan’s
A BYZANTINE MODEL
79
son, Stephen Urosh V, a kingdom ruled by the late Czar’s brother, Simeon,
and several principalities led by the supreme sovereign’s auxiliary princes
calling themselves despotes, sebastocrators, and caesars. But none of
them could continue Dushan’s policy.
One of Dushan’s most significant successors was Ugliesha, the ruler of
a despotate, the center of which was Serres, in which most of the
inhabitants were Greek. He embraced the same patronage policy over the
Mount Athos monasteries and asked his chancellery to issue a number of
chrysobulls according to which his formal title was “in Christ the son of
God, despote and autocrator”. By this means, Ugliesha asserted the
sovereign position of his state in a Balkan political scene radically changed
after Dushan’s disappearance.
The main result of the imperial policy of the great Serbian sovereign
was, ultimately, the exhaustion of Balkan resources in outdated activities
at a very serious moment for the fate of the peoples of the peninsula. The
Ottomans took advantage of the power void following Dushan’s death and,
after two decisive victories over the Christians – on the banks of the
Maritsa River (1371) and in Kosovo (1389) – established a centuries-long
domination over the Balkans.
3. A Strict Fidelity: Russia
The 988 Christianization of Kievean Russia was of historical importance
for medieval Europe. The largest state in Eastern Europe in terms of area
was thus entering the area of Byzantine civilization and the “Family of
Princes” led by the Basileus. Although Byzantine sources are not very clear
in this respect, it can be assumed that, because Vladimir had married the
sister of Emperor Basil II, the Great Knez had been given the title of
“beloved son”, enjoying the same rank that Bulgarian Czar Peter had
enjoyed after having married the niece of Romanus I Lecapenus.
The beginning of this period was marked by two major events in the
history of Russia. First, as early as the Twelfth Century, the Kievean state
was divided into a number of aristocratic republics and principalities that
were incessantly struggling among themselves for new territories and
political supremacy. The only element of unity was “the Metropolitan
Church of Kiev and all Russia”, established in the Tenth Century and
exerting full authority over the whole of Russian christendom. The second
- even more important - event was the beginning of Tartar rule over the
Russian world in a domination which would last for almost two-and-a-half
centuries (1240-1480). The rule of the Golden Horde was effective and was
expressed by the requirement of a yearly tribute to be paid by each
principality and by confirmation of the “Great Knez” by the Khan. The midFourteenth Century witnessed a political development that would decide
the fate of Russia during the next century: the ascension of the Muscovy
Principality. Thanks to the abilities of the Muscovy knezes, to their lack of
political scruples, and to the move of the Russian Church from Kiev to
Vladimir and then to Muscovy, its prince was given the title of “Great Knez”
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by the Golden Horde, implicitly thereby winning for Muscovy a preeminent
position in its relationship with all the Russian princes.
Between the time of the great Tartar invasion and the mid-Fourteenth
Century, Constantinople and the Russian world ceased to have any
relationships, only deciding to reestablish them in 1350. There were two
elements involved in that decision. On one hand, the Oecumenical
Patriarchate was in an increasingly serious financial crisis, as it lacked
material support from the sovereigns of a territorially and economically
lessened empire. On the other hand, relationships had to be resumed
because of the fierce dispute between Muscovy and Lithuania for the
supreme ecclesiastic title of former Kievean Russia, “Metropolitan Bishop
of Kiev and all Russia”, requiring the Oecumenical Patriarchate to provide
arbitration. The ecclesiastic dispute also had a political stake, since its
resolution would determine, for the long term, around which of the two
principalities the unity of Russia would be achieved. However, for more
than half a century, the Byzantine Church had a duplicitous policy toward
Muscovy that reflected the major clash taking place in Constantinople
between the pro-Muscovy and the pro-Lithuania parties. The title in
dispute was successively conceded to each of the candidates by the
Patriarchate. It was only in 1408 that the Patriarchate definitively sided
with Muscovy, the Metropolitan Bishop of which became the title holder of
the “Metropolitan Church of Kiev and all Russia“, after the Grand Duke of
Lithuania had been baptized into the Catholic faith and had become King
of Poland.
The hesitant (if not cynical) attitude of the Oecumenical Patriarchate
had obvious effects in terms of the position of Muscovy toward
Constantinople. In a letter sent by the Great Knez, Basil I, to Patriarch
Anthony IV, the Russian prince wrote that Russian churches only
commemorated liturgically the Patriarch’s name, not that of the Basileus,
for “we have a Church, not an Emperor”. In other words, the Muscovy
prince recognized the authority of the sacerdocy (but not of the Empire)
over Russia.
The reply of Patriarch Anthony to Basil I, in a letter written around
1395, was a true Byzantine political testament in which the former
mapped out in impeccably clear terms an imperial doctrine regarding the
Basileus and the place of the patriarch in the Orthodox community. “It is
not possible for Christians to have a church but no empire”, wrote the high
priest. The Church and the Empire “exist within a great unity and
community and we cannot separate them from one another”. Anthony did
not overlook the Prince’s serious confusion when refusing to recognize the
Emperor’s authority, for “the holy Basileus is no ordinary prince, governing
over mere regions.... He is anointed with the holy unction and is
consecrated as the Romans’ Basileus and Autocrator just to rule over all
Christians”. In opposition to the local authority of other princes, the
Roman Emperor is the one and only “master and ruler of the oecumene”,
the “universal Basileus” and the Christians’ “natural king”, whose
decisions and orders are accepted and obeyed throughout the world. The
A BYZANTINE MODEL
81
commemoration of his name would be nothing but a recognition of his
universal sovereignty (F. Miklosich and J. Müller, eds., 1862, pp. 190-192).
But one should not think that the aforementioned letter by the Great
Knez reflected a constantly hostile attitude on the part of Basil I – and even
less so of the other Russian princes – toward the Basileus. On the
contrary, one year before the fall of Constantinople, the Great Knez Basil II
wrote the following to the last Byzantine emperor: “You have received the
high imperial scepter, your patrimony, to govern all Orthodox Christians in
your kingdom and to help us govern our state and Church” (in, Russkaya
Istoricheskaya Bibliotheka, Vol 6, 1880, Col. 583).
Never before had faithfulness to the Byzantine political doctrine been
expressed so strongly by an Orthodox Community prince. But it is
necessary to explain Basil’s position as the writer of the above-mentioned
letter. On one hand, Basil’s words reflected certain hard feelings in regard
to the attitude of Constantinople in the (still existing) dispute for the title of
“Metropolitan Bishop of Kiev and all Russia”. On the other hand, they were
the response of the Great Knez to the opportunistic attitude visible in the
Byzantine emperors in the second half of the Fourteenth Century over the
issue of religious union with Rome, when some of them even chose to
embrace the Catholic faith, thus hoping to save the Empire. Finally, one
should not forget that the Muscovy prince was situated geographically
between the Basileus and the Tartar Khanate, i.e., between a distant and
diminishing authority, the interference of which in the affairs of Muscovy
could not be accepted, and a real power that had to be paid a tribute and
that, in exchange, would grant the ruler the title of “Great Knez”. It was not
difficult to choose between the two authorities. But it was, no doubt, a
provisional choice, with no long-term effects.
Subordinated as they were to the Tartar Khanate, the rulers of Muscovy
could not appropriate for themselves the prerogatives and the symbols of
the Byzantine Empire. In this respect, they were, until 1454, an exception
in the whole Orthodox world. Only after doing away with Tartar suzerainty
and uniting Russia around Muscovy was Ivan III the Great (1462-1505)
able to assume the title of czar, albeit unofficially, but his real policy was
prenational rather than imperial. Even when his grandson, Ivan IV (the
Terrible) officially became a czar (1547) and proclaimed himself the “Czar
and Autocrat of all Russia”, thus making it possible for the Russian
Church to proclaim itself a Patriarchate (1589), Russian political options
still failed to belong to a universal project. The theory of “Muscovy as a
Third Rome”, first enunciated by the monk, Phylothei, was a product of the
ecclesiastic world and did not make a big impact in Sixteenth Century
Russian policy.
4. The Romanian Principalities: An Imperial Plan?
The case of the Romanian world has certain special elements in terms of
its relationship with the Slavic Orthodox world because of its position in
the contact area between the Catholic West and Orthodox Byzantium.
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During the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries, when Constantinople returned
as a military force along the Danube, there were no apparent close
contacts between the Empire and the Romanian North-Danubian
communities, even if in ecclesiastic terms the latter could gravitate South
of the Danube. The year 1200 first witnessed the end of the Byzantine
presence near the Lower Danube and then the start of the two-hundred
year effort of Rome to incorporate the Carpathian-Danubian region into its
scope of religious authority. The main auxiliary of the pontifical policy was
the Hungarian kingdom which, through its political expansion in the intraand extra- Carpathian region, was supposed to be fulfilling a crusade-type
of mission, converting the “schismatic” Romanians to the Catholic faith.
For the Romanian world, this moment was critical. On the verge of
establishing their own states, Romanians had to make a double choice:
between two areas of civilization in the Christian world, as well as between
the two political and statal organizational models then known in medieval
Europe: the Western and the Byzantine.
At the beginning of the Middle Ages, the Romanian world was organized
into dozens of “ţări” (i.e., lands, from the Latin, terrae), that were unions of
rural communities having their own governing institutions. In its most
archaic form, such a “ţară” had a number of distinctive features. Its society
was horizontally structured and mainly rural, functioning as a legal
community later defined in various medieval sources by “the custom and
the law of our land”, which corresponded to the phrase, consuetudines
terrae, in Latin medieval sources. More than twenty such “Romanian
lands” are known to have existed in the period before the Eighth Century,
most of them in the intra-Carpathian region of Transylvania.
The Eighth and Ninth Centuries witnessed the end of the “archaic
phase” of the “Romanian lands” and the beginning of a new phase which
would last until the mid-Thirteenth Century and would be dominated by
the feudalization of the ţări, led from this moment on by voivodes invested
with military authority. A number of events happening around the year
900 and mentioned in the anonymous Notary’s Chronicle bring forward the
intra-Carpathian territorial dukes, each of whom was the voivode of a ţara
(terra).
Feudalization sped up during the following centuries on both sides of
the Carpathians. The process is exemplified by the mid-Thirteenth Century
as described by a document, the St. John Knights’ Diploma (1247), dating
from the reign of Bela IV (in, E. Szentpétery, ed., 1937) which describes the
social and political structures of Romanian society South of the
Carpathians, where, one century later, the first Romanian state would be
established. The Diploma asserts that between the Southern Carpathians
and the Danube there was a hierarchical society the poles of which were
the maiores terrae and the rustici, i.e., the two fundamental classes of a
social order in full swing. At the same time, the document speaks of the
existence of certain tsaras in the region: the Severine Tsara, which was
nothing but a border mark of the Hungarian kingdom, established around
1230, and the two tsaras ruled by the voivodes (i.e., dukes), Litovoi and
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83
Seneslau, both lying in the sub-Carpathian region, West and East of the
river Olt (Documenta Romaniae Historica, D, I, 1978, pp. 22-23).
During the same period, the region lying South of the Carpathians
(including the Romanian tsaras to be found there) underwent in its turn a
Westernization process. As a result, certain Romanian political factors
were integrated into the Arpadian political system: the voivode, Litovoi,
owed the King the so-called auxilium et consilium. Also, a number of
Western inspired legal norms were introduced into the Romanian tsaras
and limited their autonomy in a process which became very advanced in
Transylvania.
The Fourteenth Century witnessed the beginning of the last phase of
the crystallization process of the Romanian States. The result of this
process first appeared South of the Carpathians, where Voivode Bassarab
(1310-1352) took advantage of the long crisis of authority of the Hungarian
royalty to unify under his rule the tsaras lying East and West of the river
Olt. The momentary eclipse of Hungarian power was linked to the
extinction of the Arpadian dynasty (1301), the resulting interregnum, and
the difficult start of the rule of King Charles Robert of Anjou (1308-1342).
It coincided with the clear maturing of Romanian society as is suggested
by the 1247 Diploma. A 1324 Royal Diploma presented Bassarab as a
vassal of the Hungarian crown (voyvodam nostrum Transalpinum), while
his principality was a vassal tsara (Terra nostra Transalpina).
A few years later, however, a decisive break occurred in the relationship
of the two parties, because Charles Robert’s foreign policy remained
faithful to the political principles of the Angevin house. The new Angevin
Dynasty, that claimed the throne of Hungary in 1308, was educated in the
spirit of Sicilian and French political ideas which had guided the statebuilding processes in two of the most powerful “national” monarchies in
the medieval West: the Kingdom of Sicily, previously ruled by the very
founder of the royal Angevin house, Charles Robert of Anjou, and the
Kingdom of France, from which his family had come. The basic policy lines
of the new dynasty were to reclaim for the crown all public attributes that
had been usurped by the great barons, to convert to the Catholic faith all
“schismatics”, toward whom the Angevins adopted St. Bernard de
Clairvaux’s rigid stance – qui nobiscum sunt et nobiscum non sunt – and to
expand in Southeastern Europe under the banners of the crusade and
against all local “schismatics” and “Pagans”. The 1330 royal campaign
against the Romanian voivode who was, in Charles Robert’s own words,
“the shepherd of my flock” (“Ipse Bazarad est pastor ovium mearum”), was
meant to turn the “Transalpine tsara” into a royal province.
But the military campaign changed into a total catastrophe for the
Hungarian side. Charles Robert lost most of his army and was badly
wounded in the November 1330 Battle of Posada. The king’s defeat also
meant the failure of his agenda. The Romanian voivode capitalized on the
results of Posada and strengthened the domestic and international
position of his principality. Thus, his rule paved the way for the
establishment of the autocratic principality: the unification of the political
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scene South of the Carpathians and the winning of de facto independence
for his state in relation to the Hungarian crown. But in spite of all these
successes, the nature of this state did not fundamentally vary from that of
the Romanian principalities in the previous centuries for as long as
Bassarab’s power as “Great Voivode” (i.e., Grand Duke) was that of a mere
“captainship”, to use Grigore Ureche’s term of definition for the authority of
the first Moldavian princes (in, G. Ureche, 1958 ed.). In other words, the
nature of this power was basically military rather than political.
Bassarab’s son, Nicholas Alexander (Nicolae Alexandru) (1352-1364),
actually laid the foundations of the first Romanian autocratic state. The
process that got underway was related to a critically important event in the
history of the Walachian Principality in the Fourteenth Century: the 1359
establishment of the Metropolitan Church of Ungrovlachia under the
authority of the Patriarchate of Constantinople. The initiative came from
the Romanian ruler, and the Patriarchate accordingly moved the Vicina
Metropolitan Bishop, Jacynt, into the Argeş Walachian seat, without any
change of rank.
The first important aspect of this event was religious. When the
Walachian Church was put under the direct authority of the Oecumenical
Patriarchate, an end was put to the century-long attempt of the Papacy to
convert the Orthodox Romanian population between the Danube and the
Southern Carpathians to Roman Catholicism. Earlier pontifical curia and
Angevin chancellery papers stress the pressures that were exerted upon
the Romanian prince to make him place the Walachian Church under
Roman authority and to accept the Catholic faith. The 1359 document was
a major setback for these efforts. At the same time, the young Romanian
Principality acquired an ecclesiastic articulation that was indispensable for
its political aspirations, in a world in which imperiun sine patriarcha non
staret.
The second major aspect of the event, of more relevance to the scope of
this study, is political. In solidarity with the gesture of his patriarch, as
was explicitly started in the text of the synodal decision confirming the
establishment of the Argeş Metropolitan Church, the Emperor recognized
the legal existence of Bassarab’s Walachian Principality. The political
aspirations of Walachia for independence thus enjoyed international
recognition for the first time by no less than Constantinople, i.e., from one
of the two medieval centers of political legitimacy.
True enough, following the huge success at Posada, the Bassarab
Principality appeared to be acting and existing independently, but without
the political consecration of either Constantinople or Rome, it could not
join the “Family of Princes” of the medieval world, the so-called
Weltbeherrschungorganization led by the Constantinople Basileus.
From a legal perspective, Nicholas Alexander’s 1359 act, which was an
open challenge to the suzerainty of the Hungarian crown, was equally
important (and complementary) to the victory at Posada. From that
moment on, the Walachian Prince could add “Autocrator” to his already
existing title of “Great Voivode”. In an exchange of letters in 1359 between
A BYZANTINE MODEL
85
the Patriarchate and the Prince, Nicholas Alexander’s title was megas
voivodas kai authentes pases ungrovlachias. The meaning of “absolute
ruler” of the word, authentes, seems to reflect the meaning of the phrase in
Slavonic documents, gospodin samodrzevani, or that of the phrase, domn
singur ţiitor, existing in Romanian medieval records. One can easily
observe that these phrases are the equivalent of the Byzantine qualification
of autocrator, used audaciously a decade later in a Greek text by VlaicuVladislav, Nicholas Alexander’s successor.
It is possible to explain why the Constantinople Patriarchate did not use
the adjective, autocrator, for Walachian princes, for it could only be used to
eliminate the Basileus. The adjective, autocrator, has the same meaning as
the phrase, rex est imperator in suo regno, which had begun to be used one
century earlier by the lawyers of the King of France, as an assertion of the
full power of their sovereign, both internally, where he held all the
attributes of a quasi-imperial authority, and externally, where he depended
upon no political authority whatsoever.
The fact that contemporaries interpreted the 1359 event in the same
way is made clear by the historical sources dating back to that time. First,
one of the Western chronicles gives Vlaicu-Vladislav the title of Rex Bessrat
(King of Bessarabia). In other words, the Great Voivode Bassarab’s
grandson is a “king” according to one of his contemporaries.
Much more important is a 1365 Hungarian King’s document (in, E.
Szentpétery, 1937) including the royal proclamation that announced the
war against Vlaicu-Vladislav in order to bring Walachia back to Hungarian
suzerainty by force of arms. In the document, Louis I accuses Nicholas
Alexander of “forgetting about all the good things he received from us and
of ungratefully and defiantly breaking both the bonds with us, and a
certain understanding about taxes we were supposed to get by virtue of
our natural rule”. It is clear that Louis I was thinking of the 1359 event,
when Nicholas Alexander eluded Hungarian vassalage and proclaimed
himself “Great Voivode and Autocratic Ruler”, without any change of
stance at the time of his death, as can be inferred from the inscription on
his tombstone.
The Hungarian king was even more annoyed with the position of
Nicholas Alexander’s son who, faithful to his father’s policy,
did not recognize us as a natural lord, did not ask for any approval,
and assumed the deceiving title of “ruler” in the above mentioned
Transalpine land which was ours by right of birth, choosing therefore
to confront his lord from whom he should have acquired the power
symbols and daring to take his father’s place... with the treacherous
acceptance and the secret approval of the Romanians and the
inhabitants of that land (S. Brezeanu, 1999, pp. 199-200).
Vlaicu was accused of borrowing certain “bad parental habits” by
assuming a fictitious title (titulus fictus). In other words, the new
Walachian Prince had derived the necessary conclusions from the
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autocratic position of his authority and from its source of internal
legitimacy, conceded by the Metropolitan Church, and had proclaimed
himself “Great Voivode and Autocratic Ruler”, being the first Walachian
prince who did not ask the Hungarian king to give him permission to rule
and to hand him the power symbols.
One should note that, at the time of the 1359 decision, Nicholas
Alexander gave up a position of vassal in the hierarchy of the Hungarian
kings in exchange for nothing but a subordinate relationship in regard to
the Byzantine Emperors. The point is to some extent well taken. As has
been repeatedly stated, the medieval world consisted of a hierarchy of
states rather than of equality among states, which, in the case of
Southeastern and Eastern Europe, designated the already known “Family
of Kings” that was presided by the Byzantine emperor. Affiliation to the
Byzantine Commonwealth, however, was in firm contrast to the real
subordination of the Great Voivode of Argeş, that was derived from his
position of vassalage with regard to the King of Hungary. Moreover, the fact
that the Voivode joined the Constantinople Commonwealth did not prevent
him from assuming the title of “Autocratic Ruler” and from asserting the
divine source of his power without fearing any response on the part of the
Basileus. On the contrary, during the brief periods when Walachian rulers
were constrained to recognize the suzerainty of the Hungarian crown, both
the adjective “autocratic” and the assertion of the divine origin of their
power disappeared from their titles.
During the periods of rule of Nicholas Alexander’s successors, the
transfer of the prerogatives and of the symbols of Byzantine imperial origin
were completed. Vlaicu-Vladislav asserted the divine source of his power
for the first time in a formal document. He issued his own currency and
began the Walachian patronage of certain Mount Athos monasteries. The
Walachian chancellery was organized during this period and began to
issue the so-called khrisovs inspired by the imperial documents known as
chrysoboulloi logoi. Last but not least, mainly during the rule of Mircea the
Elder (Mircea cel Bătrân), a princely hierarchy was crystallized, with high
offices recalling those of Constantinople in terms both of names and of
responsibilities. But this hierarchy lacked such Slavic South-Danubian
czar’s offices as despotes, sebastocrators, or caesars.
The attribute of despote in the title of Mircea the Elder, as well as the
two-headed eagle, should not be viewed as a direct influence of the New
Rome. Both the title and the two-headed eagle were linked to Mircea’s rule
over Dobrudja, a territory that had previously been ruled by Prince
Dobrotitsa, who had been given the title of despote by the Basileus about
half way through the mid-Fourteenth Century. They both disappeared
from the titles and symbols of Walachian princes after the Ottomans
conquered Dobrudja in 1420. Therefore, in only several decades since the
establishment of the Argeş Metropolitan Church, which became the source
of power legitimization of the Walachian princes, Walachia was enjoying all
the prerogatives of an autocratic state. One should not be surprised to
discover that in a 1424 document (in, Documenta Romaniae Historica, D, I,
A BYZANTINE MODEL
87
1978, pp. 227-228) written during the reign of Dan II, the Bassarab
Principality was called Regnum Valahie and was juxtaposed to the
Kingdom of Hungary (Regnum Hungarie). All the differences between the
nature of rule of the Romanian princes and that of their old suzerain were
thus annulled.
The evolution of the other Romanian Principality, i.e., Moldavia, from
voivodate to autocratic principality followed roughly the same path as that
of Walachia, with a delay of a few decades.
The core of the future Moldavian state was created around 1352, at the
initiative of King Louis I of Hungary. After fighting the Tartars living East of
the Carpathians, he established a border mark on the upper course of the
Siret River, in a region ruled by Dragoş, a Romanian nobleman who had
come from Maramureş and who received from the King the title of
Voivode. Dragoş and his close successors, who ruled over the local
population, remained in a state of strict fidelity in regard to the Angevin
royalty. A decade after the voivodate had been established, an anti-royalist
reaction took place in Moldavia, at the initiative and under the leadership
of Bogdan, the Romanian Voivode of Maramureş. Already as early as 1350,
Bogdan had rebelled against Louis I, whose policy had been to annul
Romanian autonomy in Maramureş and to establish a royal district
instead. Defeated after almost two decades of fighting in Maramureş,
Bogdan was successful in Moldavia, where he expelled the King’s
representatives and broke all the bonds of vassalage between Moldavia and
the Hungarian crown. Yet, following Bogdan’s death, his son, Laţcu, was
put under a twofold pressure – Catholic and Hungarian – and ultimately
agreed to the establishment of a Catholic bishopric in Siret (1370) and to
recognize the suzerainty of Louis I, for the Hungarian king had reached the
apogée of his power after the union of Hungary and Poland.
In the vision of the pontifical and the Hungarian chancelleries, Laţcu
was a mere dux, a king’s vassal, while Moldavia was referred to as terra
nostra Moldavana. This situation remained unchanged during the rule of
Laţcu’s successor, Peter (Petru) I Muşat (1376-1391), until Louis I died
(1382), and his outdated construct collapsed.
The start of the decisive detachment of Moldavia from Hungarian
suzerainty took place during the second half of Peter I Muşat’s rule, as the
Romanian Prince took advantage of the struggle between the Poles and the
Hungarians for the Angevin legacy. The existence of the Moldavian
Metropolitan Church was formally attested in 1386-1387. It served as a
critical step in the evolution toward becoming an autocratic principality.
But even then, the Voivode refused to accept a representative of the
Oecumenical Patriarchate as the head of its Metropolitan Church,
preferring a Moldavian prelate. This choice triggered a long dispute
between Suceava and Constantinople that was only resolved in 1402,
when Alexander the Good and the Patriarch decided to reach a
compromise.
The first issuance of Moldavian currency also took place during the rule
of Peter (Petru) I Muşat. It can be assumed that Peter (Petru) I added the
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title of Autocratic Ruler to that of Voivode and enjoyed all the resulting
prerogatives, but there is no written evidence to document such an
assumption. It is certain, however, that his successor, Roman Muşat
(1391-1394), was the first Moldavian Prince to proclaim himself “Great
Voivode and Autocratic Ruler by the Grace of God” in a 1392 Voivode’s
khrisov to be reconfirmed one year later (Documenta Romaniae Historica, A,
Moldova, 1975).
During the rule of Roman’s son, Alexander the Good (1400-1432), the
form, autocrator, is attested in Greek. In parallel with the use of the title,
“Autocratic Ruler”, just as in the Walachian case, other Byzantine inspired
attributes and symbols are also attested: the divine source of the Prince’s
power, a khrisovs-producing chancellery, and a princely hierarchy derived
to a certain extent from that of Constantinople. The three high imperial
offices – despote, sebastocrator, and caesar – are lacking in this case as
well.
Perhaps more than in the Walachian case, medieval historical tradition
is aware of the profound change in terms of the nature of power which
took place, in Moldavia, during Roman Muşat’s rule. Moldavian historical
sources in the following centuries reflected the transition from the
“captainship” of the first voivodes to the new stage marked by samodrzac
Roman Muşat. Even more important are the words of John of Târnava, the
official biographer of King Louis I of Hungary, who was also the latter’s
Chancellor. Analyzing the evolution of the Moldavian Principality from the
status of “terra nostra Moldavana”, as referred to in the chancellery papers
of Louis I, to the Muşatins’ state in the last decade of the Fourteenth
Century, which had adopted the adjective, autocratic, the Hungarian
chronicler concluded that “this principality had turned into a kingdom”
(illa terra in regnum est dilatata). John of Târnava actually identified the
accumulation of political prerogatives, added to the old military power of
the Moldavian voivodes, which changed Moldavia (in the same way that
Walachia had been changed several decades earlier) into an autocratic
principality.
It has been said that the transfer of Byzantine ideology and political
institutions to the Romanian principalities in the Fourteenth and the
Fifteenth Centuries was part of an imperial plan. The patronage of certain
Mount Athos monasteries initiated by Vlaicu-Vladislav in Walachia and
continued by the Moldavian rulers in the Fifteenth Century is a strong
point in favour of this idea. One can note that in Serbia as well, after
Stephen Dushan’s death, the rulers of certain principalities detached from
the great sovereign’s empire continued his patronage policy on Mount
Athos, with no connection whatsoever to an alleged imperial agenda. The
financial support given by Romanian princes in the Middle Ages to the
Mount Athos churches was part of an Orthodox policy of prestige and
solidarity. The presence of the word, autocrator, in the titles of the
Romanian princes is another argument in favour of this view. But no
matter how solid this thesis may seem, it cannot stand a close
examination.
A BYZANTINE MODEL
89
The qualifier, autocrator, first appeared in the titles of Thirteenth
Century Serbian kings, where its presence did not imply an imperial plan.
It later reappeared in several principalities succeeding Dushan’s empire,
but these principalities followed no imperial line.
The appropriation of the word, autocrator, by the Romanian
principalities is the expression of a reflex meant to provide protection
against an impending external threat as well as to assert a sovereign
position in relation to their neighbours. On the other hand, one cannot
afford to neglect the internal function of such an adjective regarding the
efforts made by the Suceava and Argeş voivodes to assert their full
authority in regard to Romanian boyars (i.e., barons). Finally, other
arguments related to the imperial agenda of the Romanian princes evoke
the existence of certain symbols belonging to the power constellation of the
Constantinople Basileus, among which the two-headed eagle. In most
cases, however, there were special reasons for the voivodes to take them
over, as in the case of the two-headed eagle, first appearing during the rule
of Mircea the Elder as a sign that he also ruled over Dobrotitsa’s
Despotate, and three centuries later, during Şerban Cantacuzino’s rule, as
evidence that the Walachian Prince belonged to the Cantacuzino imperial
family. When the reasons ceased to exist, the princely power symbols in
question were discarded in the Romanian principalities.
On the other hand, major arguments can be made against an imperial
agenda in the policies of the Romanian princes. First and foremost, it is
difficult to believe that the small North-Danubian principalities could
formulate imperial plans in the real policy contexts of Fourteenth and
Fifteenth Century Southeastern Europe. Neither medieval political
tradition nor their resources could support such an agenda. Their critical
problem was survival in a space dominated by the policies of their
neighbours. The transfer of Byzantine ideology, and chiefly, the term
autocrator and the idea of the divine origin of power, with all due
conclusions, were made to work for reasons of survival.
Second, one should take note of the lack of any intention on the part of
a Romanian prince to assume even the title of king, far less the supreme
imperial title. On the contrary, in Mircea the Elder’s chancellery there was
a recurrence of the idea of the hierarchical structure of the medieval world:
– emperors, kings, and princes (domni), the Walachian voivode always
going for the lowest rank in this hierarchy. The same idea reappeared, one
way or another, in the thinking of other princes, among whom, Neagoe
Bassarab in the Invăţăturile.... (i.e., the “Teachings” that he prepared for
his son) (in, Bassarab, 1996 ed.). In his turn, a very successful Michael the
Brave (Mihai Viteazul), in spite of the huge political prestige he gained as
the result of his victories over the Turks, did not allow himself to be
seduced by the Balkan projects of a Romanian basileus in Constantinople
and pursued far more realistic political ambitions.
Finally, the strongest argument of all is the status of the Church in the
two principalities. At the level of the Slavonic empires, great efforts were
made to harmonize the two fundamental medieval institutions in the
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emperor-patriarch tandem, preceded by the king-archbishop tandem so far
as the Asenids and the first Serbian kings were concerned. But the
Romanian princes in the Middle Ages never aimed to raise their churches
to archbishopric rank, let alone the supreme rank. The metropolitan rank
of churches was the expression of the political stance of the Romanian
voivodes in the “Family of Princes”. Yet, this apparent modesty did not
mean they were not aiming – through the Byzantine inheritance – at a
position of sovereignty in relation to the political claims of their
neighbours.
In conclusion, the annexation of certain Byzantine prerogatives and
symbols by Romanian princes does not reveal any imperial plan, but needs
to be viewed as a protection reflex directed against external dangers and –
secondarily – as a domestic autocratic governmental agenda.
It would be instructive to compare the evolution of Western kingdoms,
which were fully involved in a centralization process, with the situation in
Southeastern Europe at the time. A century before Nicholas Alexander had
assumed the title of autocrator, Western “national” monarchies, confronted
with the supremacy tendencies of the Hohenstaufen emperors, were
displaying their own protective reflexes by means of the famous phrase, rex
est imperator in regno suo. Similarly, imperial prerogatives and symbols in
the Romanian principalities belong to a pre-national rather than to an
imperial plan. However, at a different level – mainly cultural and artistic –
the Romanian principalities were among the most important perpetuators
of the civilization of Christian Rome after it had been conquered by the
Ottoman Turks.
D. CONCLUSIONS
The way in which the Byzantine political model was received by the
members of the Orthodox Commonwealth varied from country to country.
In Bulgaria and Serbia, after an initial defensive phase, the next step was
full annexation of the imperial model. Quite on the contrary, the Romanian
principalities were late in taking over only certain elements of the model
and stopped halfway. Finally, after a strict policy of fidelity toward the
Byzantine Empire and a century after Constantinople fell into Ottoman
hands, Muscovy achieved the complete annexation of this agenda and
claimed over the next centuries to be “the Third Rome”. How can such a
bottom line be explained?
Given its substance and forms of manifestation, the Byzantine idea of
the state worked for the Orthodox peoples like a treasure shared by all of
them in keeping with their needs, conditions, and political traditions. The
Turanian traditions of the First Bulgarian Czardom and – and even more
importantly, Crum ’s political inheritance - influenced Simeon’s imperial
agenda the objective of which was the conquest of Constantinople. Three
centuries later, Simeon’s political covenant was to guide the imperial plans
of John Asen II. In its turn, the evolution of the power relationships
between the Empire and its neighbours was also reflected in the political
A BYZANTINE MODEL
91
aspirations of the neighbours in question. The conquest of Constantinople
in 1204 by the Latin forces and the disputes over the supreme title
between successor states were historical circumstances that favoured
John Asen’s rise and imperial agenda in its all-encompassing sense. A
century later, the agony of the Byzantine state under the Palaeologi was
fructified by Stephen Dushan in an imperial plan that was as ambitious as
that of Simeon and John Asen II. The geographical positions of the
Orthodox states – and first of all their relative distances from
Constantinople – also played a part in the historical circumstances of the
way in which the Byzantine model was received. As Bulgaria and Serbia
were immediate neighbours of the Empire and had a very early start in the
intensive appropriation of the Byzantine influence, they were the first to
draw up and to implement imperial projects. At the other end of the
spectrum, the Romanian Principalities and the Great Knezate of Muscovy
were farther from Constantinople and lacked direct political and military
contacts. Therefore, they only assumed imperial symbols and prerogatives
during the last century of the Byzantine state or even after its fall.
Possibly the most important factor accounting for the reception of the
Byzantine political model was the set of political needs of the Orthodox
states. It can be said that this reception was first achieved (with the
possible exception of Muscovy) as a reflex of protection. Even where the
South-Slav states were concerned, the imperial idea of New Rome had a
dominating and even an imperialist meaning, regardless of whether or not
the Empire of Constantine and Justinian, of the Macedonians, or of the
Comnenoi is evoked.
During the first stage of the Bulgarian Czardom, Boris took the title of
czar with all its political implications because of a need to define his
political identity in the face of an empire that took great care to proclaim
its universal domination by calling its sovereigns basileis and autocrators.
The same attitude could be identified as reflecting the first sovereigns of
the Târnovo Czardom, established in a lawfully imperial territory. Even to
the extent that the Serbian king, Stephen-the-first-crowned, was
concerned, the term autocrator and other elements of Byzantine ideology
had the same political function, even though there was no threat coming
from the Byzantine state.
The defensive role of the Byzantine political inheritance was even
clearer in the case of the Romanian principalities that were threatened by
the policies of their Catholic neighbours. After passing this phase and
depending upon the power relationships that they established with
Constantinople, some states, the Balkan Slavonic ones, for instance,
immediately assumed a full imperial agenda. Later and in different
historical circumstances, the Muscovy Czardom, would proclaim itself the
political heir of the New Rome in the modern age.
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MIKLOSICH, Franz, and MÜLLER, J. Acta et diplomata graeca medii aevi sacra
et profana. Vol. 2. Vienna, 1862.
OBOLENSKY, D. The Byzantine Commonwealth: Eastern Europe 500-1453.
London, 1971.
OSTROGORSKY, G. “Die byzantinische Staatenhierarchie”, Seminarium
Kondakovianum 7 (1936a): 41-61.
OSTROGORSKY, G. “Avtokrator and Samodrzac”, Glas. Der serb. Akademie
164 (1936b): 97-187.
PETERSON, E. Der Monotheismus als politisches Problem. Leipzig, 1934.
PORPHYROGÉNÈTE, Constantin. Le Livre des Cérémonies. 2 vols., A. Vogt, ed.
Paris, 1935.
Russkaya Istoricheskaya Bibliotheka. Vol. 6. St. Petersburg, 1880, Col.
583.
SZENTPÉTERY, E., ed. “Scriptores Rerum Hungaricarum”, I, in, Gesta
Hungarorum. Budapest, 1937.
URECHE, Grigore. Letopiseţul Ţării Moldovei. P. O. Panaitescu, ed.
Bucharest, 1958.
VOGT, J. Orbis Romanus: Ein Beitrag zum Sprachgebrauch und
Vorstellungswelt des römischen Imperialismus. Munich, 1929.
A BYZANTINE MODEL
93
2. Other Literature
AHRWEILER, H. L’Idéologie politique de l’Empire Byzantin. Paris, 1975.
BOJOVIĆ, B. L’Idéologie monarchique dans les hagio-biographies
dynastiques du Moyen Age serbe. Rome, 1995.
BREZEANU, Stelian. “Model european şi realitate locală în întemeierile
statale medievale româneşti. Un caz: ‘terra Bazarab’”, Revista istorică 5
3-4 (1994): 211-232
GEORGESCU, Val. Al. Bizanţul şi instituţiile româneşti până la mijlocul
secolului al XVIII-lea. Bucharest, 1980.
GRABAR, A. “God and the ‘Family of Princes’ Presided over by the Byzantine
Emperor”, Harvard Slavonic Studies 2 (1959): 117-123.
LECHNER, K. Hellenen und Barbaren im Weltbild der Byzantiner. Munich,
1954.
THEODORESCU, Răzvan. Bizanţ, Balcani, Occident la începuturile culturii
medievale româneşti (sec. X-XIV). Bucharest, 1974.
TREITINGER, O. Die oströmische Kaiser – und Reichidee nach ihrer Gestaltung
im höfischen Zeremoniell. Darmstadt, 1956.
IV. Aperçus of the History of Balkan Romanity
NICOLAE-ŞERBAN TANAŞOCA
A. ROMANIAN AND FOREIGN RESEARCH ON THE BALKAN ROMANIANS
1. The Balkan Romanians
The Balkan Peninsula is indebted to its geographical position and
structure, as well as to its historical circumstances throughout the
centuries, for its ethnic composition of unique diversity and complexity.
Distinct peoples live together or are neighbours on its soil in an
inextricable texture unparalleled anywhere else in the world. On the one
hand, this situation has made possible a degree of rapprochement and
many exchanges among peoples of various nationalities which has evolved
far enough to lead to the creation of a relatively unitary Balkan mentality
and common civilization. On the other hand, however, aspirations to the
preservation of an ethnic individuality has had, from time to time, to
confront the very opposite tendency, one of national homogenization
propounded by one or another of the Balkan states. The result has been a
number of acute conflicts, if not of proverbially violent clashes, among the
constituents of this mosaic of populations.
Long ago, during the existence of the great imperial structures that
incorporated the peoples of the Balkan Peninsula, such confrontations,
born out of a wish for universality, were not overly harsh. They became
much more intense after the establishment of modern national states in the
region and the resulting denationalization of large numbers of minority
group peoples belonging to one nation, but left inside the borders of
another. In some situations, the final result was the total disappearance of
minorities.
In the Balkan ethnic context, in addition to the Slavic peoples of
Yugoslavia and Bulgaria as well as the Albanians, Greeks, and Turks, to
mention only the main ethnic components of the Peninsula who were able
to establish national states, one also meets the scattered population of the
Vlachs. First attested by Byzantine sources, at least from the Tenth
Century onward, their presence can be observed to this day in all the
Balkan states, where they live in more or less compact groups, speak
languages which are different from the ones used by the other
nationalities, and have their own habits and customs.
With very few exceptions, Romanian and most foreign researchers
have perceived these Balkan Romanian Vlachs as successors of the
Roman or Romanized populations of the Balkan area of the Roman
Empire, or even as Romanians who migrated from the former Dacia,
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BALKAN ROMANITY
95
crossing the Danube. They were detached from the initial body of
Carpathian-Danubian Romanity - the thriving life of which in the North
of the Balkan Peninsula until the Seventh Century is well-known - as a
result of the historical circumstances created by the Slavic and
Bulgarian invasions. Scattered throughout the Peninsula and reduced to
more modest, rural, and partly “Barbarized” life forms, this Romanic
population preserved its ethnic identity and habits and continued to
speak the same language. It became separated from the Romanians
living North of the Danube, with whom it had originally formed a
compact unity. Its people gradually became estranged from them, and,
because they lacked state organizational forms and a cultural life of
their own, they had to endure an assimilation process undertaken by
the peoples among whom they lived.
Currently, Balkan Romanians are represented by three distinct groups:
the Aromanians inhabiting the South of the Peninsula, the Pindus
Mountains, Thessaly, Acarnania, Etolia, Macedonia, and Epirus; the
Megleno-Romanians to be found in several towns in the North of Greece
and in the Republic of Macedonia; and the Istro-Romanians, very few in
number, who live in the Istrian Peninsula. Except for the MeglenoRomanians, who lost their ethnic designation and chose to be called
Vlasis, it being the name used by Slavs when referring to them, all these
Vlachs are called, in their own languages or dialects, either Romanians, or
Armâni, Rëmëri, or even Rumâni, in keeping with the dialectical variants
resulting from the evolution and the diversification of the Latin, Romani,
just as in the case of the Daco-Romanian word, Rumâni. The Romanic
idioms that they speak are considered by the overwhelming majority of
Romance language specialists to be dialects of the Romanian language or,
as Matilda Caragiu-Marioţeanu (1975, 1993) points out, dialects of the old
common Romanian. In its turn, verbal and written historical tradition
looks upon these peoples as branches of the trunks of the same Romanian
single people living between the Carpathian and the Pindus Mountains,
according to the Fifteenth Century Byzantine scholar, Laonikos
Chalcocondyles.
In the more distant past, the number of Balkan Peninsula Romanian
groups was far larger than in more recent times. The Balkan Romanians in
the Northern group, living near the Haemus Mountains, along the valleys
that go down as far as the Black Sea region, as well as in Thrace and
Rodope, disappeared completely after having established Asenid Vlachia
and having taken part in the movement for the restoration of the Bulgarian
Czardom in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries. Indeed, they even
provided the ruling dynasty. Another vanished group was the Western
group of Romanians in Serbia, Bosnia, Montenegro Montenegro), Croatia,
and along the Dalmatian coast. Their presence through the Seventeenth
and the Eighteenth Centuries is attested by many sources of various
origins. Traces of these two extinct Balkan Romanian groups can only be
found today in the Romanic toponymy of the regions they inhabited, an
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indication that these peoples were speaking their own dialect, one that was
close to the former Daco-Romanian.
Starting during the second half of the Eighteenth Century, a
considerable number of Aromanians emigrated from the Balkan Peninsula
because of certain economic concerns and political needs in an attempt to
preserve their nationality. One can cite, in particular, the founding of some
important settlements by Aromanian merchants, most of whom were born
in Epirus and who were forced, as the result of Ottoman persecutions at
the end of the Eighteenth Century, to settle in the Habsburg Empire
(Austria, Hungary, and Transylvania). Then, after the First World War,
came the efforts on the part of the Romanian government to colonize
Dobrudja with a few thousand Aromanian families. In addition to the
latter, some compact Megleno-Romanian groups also settled on Romanian
territory and preserved both their ethnic features and their language.
The settling of Aromanians in the Habsburg Empire is linked to the first
so-called Aromanian national renaissance. Continuing a cultural direction
undertaken as early as their presence in the Balkan Peninsula within the
flourishing urban center of Moscopolis (that was destroyed by Ali Pasha of
Yanina), those Aromanians who had emigrated to Central European cities
came into contact with Habsburg Empire Romanians (chiefly
Transylvanian Romanians ). Here, in the effervescent atmosphere of the
Enlightenment, they developed a movement of cultural assertion in their
own language which they tried to promote by writing grammars, primers,
and even histories of their people. Focusing on the Romanity of
Aromanians and even on recovered Romanity, this movement triggered the
response of the Greek-Orthodox clergy grouped around the Oecumenical
Patriarchate. They viewed the possible Aromanian departure from the
cultural boundaries of a Hellenism that they had supported both
intellectually and materially, as being akin to religious apostasy.
The second Aromanian national renaissance began to take shape in the
second half of the Nineteenth Century through the efforts of mid-century
revolutionaries, also known as the Forty-Eighters, who, in their national
aspirations to bring together all Romanians into one national state and to
creatively assert the cultural identity of the Romanian people in its own
language, did not want to exclude the Balkan Romanians.
After the Union of 1 December 1918, Romanian statesmen and cultural
personalities were able to draw up an adequate institutional framework
and to make strenuous and systematic efforts in the diplomatic field. They
succeeded in establishing a comprehensive school network in the Balkan
Peninsula and thus in integrating a remarkable number of Aromanians
into the Romanian cultural scene. Active until the outbreak of the Second
World War, the Romanian schools in the Balkan Peninsula gave the young
Aromanians who enrolled in them the opportunity to receive a classical
education of sufficient quality for them to be able to continue their studies
in Romanian or in foreign universities. Most of the graduates of these
schools settled in Romania. The vast majority of the Dobrudja colonists
were products of this school system. This same movement also gave rise to
BALKAN ROMANITY
97
the appearance of an Aromanian dialectal literature in a cultivated
language, to be followed by cultivated attempts at literature in the
Megleno-Romanian dialect.
Balkan Romanians who did not wish to become involved in this trend,
like those who currently lack an institutional and cultural framework able
to support the assertion of their ethnic individuality, integrated into the
cultural and intellectual lives of the peoples among whom they were living
and were gradually assimilated by them. In recent years, however, efforts
have been made to reassert a degree of international co-ordination in
favour of minority rights, even though this effort is being made simply on
behalf of the Romanian national consciousness. It is also linked to the
standpoint of a Romanic nationality other than that of the Romanian
people.
2. Romanian Research on Balkan Romanians
The concern of Romanian cultural personalities for Balkan Romanians did
not begin during the Nineteenth Century, nor was it determined by the
political and cultural initiatives of the Forty-Eighters that were intended to
recover the energies of the Balkan Vlachs for use by the Romanian people
for their greater good. Since its humanist beginnings, Romanian historical
writing and historiography have reserved an appropriate place for Balkan
Romanity among their areas of interest in forms and means suitable for
each distinct period. Such pioneer Romanian historians, as Miron Costin
(1959) and Constantine “the High Steward” (“Stolnicul” Constantin)
Cantacuzino not only mentioned the existence of Balkan Romanians, but
also their common origin and the similarity of their language with that of
the North-Danubian Romanians, invoking the experience of direct contacts
with them or the existence of various written sources. Somewhat later,
Dimitrie Cantemir (1901) allocated a very important place to Balkan
Romanians in his Chronicle. He was the first Romanian scholar to have
identified a direct link between the political activities of Balkan
Romanians, led by the two brothers, Peter and John Asen, and the
establishment of the Romanian medieval states of Moldavia and Walachia,
relying on a very personal and not exactly error-free interpretation of the
main Byzantine sources related to the Asenid uprising and to the
restoration of the Bulgarian Czardom at the end of the Twelfth Century. In
this way, Cantemir made room in Romanian national historiography for a
topic of research and speculation that would never be abandoned. Both
with the assistance of Dionysius Fotino (1818-1819) and of Daniel
Philippide (1816) and through the Cantacuzino History edited by the
Tunusli brothers (1806), the theme brought up by Cantemir (1901) was
developed in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Century so-called GreekRomanian historiography, while references to the Asenids became a
question of common knowledge in Romanian national history, being taken
over by the Romantic school of historical writing led by Mihail
Kogălniceanu (1837).
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N.-Ş. TANAŞOCA
Derived from the work of the same Dimitrie Cantemir, but at a level of
accuracy and benefitting more from documentary information, is the work
of the Transylvanian School members, particularly of Gheorghe Şincai
(1967), Petru Maior (1970), and Samuil Micu (1963). The three of them
devoted special attention to a Balkan Romanity, including all its
manifestations as revealed by the sources, that was integrated into the
body of national Romanian historiography. Şincai introduced into the body
of known evidence the largest quantity derived primarily from Byzantine
sources related to the Balkan Peninsula Romanians. His contribution in
this direction was tremendous, despite the sometimes-awkward
interpretations of data brought together in D. Cantemir’s Chronicle. At the
same time, the historians of the Transylvanian School were the first to
respond to German and Hungarian works by defending the idea of the
Romanity of the South-Danubian Vlachs and by questioning the socioprofessional interpretation that was starting to be given, in certain
scholarly circles, to the word, Vlach, as allegedly designating nomadic
shepherds of unknown ethnicity. Thus these historians adopted an
intellectual stance that would be constantly defended in Romanian
historical writing, in a continuing debate with foreign historians, the
echoes of which can still be heard today.
The Transylvanian School rejected all attempts by historians such as
Franz Joseph Sulzer (1781-1782), Johann Carl Eder (1791), and Johann
Christian Engel (1794) to question Romanian continuity in Trajan’s Dacia
after Aurelian’s troops had evacuated the province in 271. Instead, they
defended the theory of the Romanian “persistence” in Transylvania, thus
forging a useful weapon for defending Romanian historical rights in this
historic province. The same theory served as an argument for the
aspirations of Romanians to be recognized as a nation in the political
sense, enjoying the same rights as the privileged nations in the area: the
Hungarians, the Saxons, and the Szeklers.
The debate over the continuity of the Romanian presence intensified
during the second half of the Nineteenth Century, in an atmosphere
created by the hardening of the nationalities policies of the (now dual)
Austro-Hungarian Empire in parallel with the assertion of a veritable
Austrian and Hungarian historiographic school that vehemently
questioned the continuity of Romanian settlement in Dacia. Although the
members of this school were not adamantly motivated by anti-Romanian
political purposes, such scholars as Robert Roesler (1871), Franz Miklosich
(1862, 1879), Wilhelm Thomaschek (1881), and Paul Hunfalvy (1883,
1887) attempted to prove that the Romanian people came into being South
of the Danube River and later emigrated to former Dacia, bringing with
them a Slavic-Byzantine civilization, typical of the environment from which
they had come. Invoking historical sources that provide detailed
information on the life of Balkan Romanity before the Thirteenth Century,
and at the same time bringing up the linguistic criterion of the
rapprochement between Romanian and such a Slavonic language as
Bulgarian and the surviving Illyrian language, Albanian, opponents to the
BALKAN ROMANITY
99
idea of continuity believed that they could prove that all the Romanians
living between the Carpathian and the Pindus Mountains came from
ancient Moesia, Illyria, and Macedonia. Many things were also written in
Central European historiography about the Romanian-Bulgarian state of
the Asenids, the founding of which actually confirmed the Twelfth- and
Thirteenth-Century existence of a Romanity which was still strong and
capable of political creation and military efforts South of the Danube.
Faced with such attempts at minimization, even though Balkan
Romanity had clearly played a major role as attested in historiography and
in linguistics, Romanian historical writing was called upon to draw up new
hypotheses about the relationship between Balkan and Daco-Romanity
over the centuries. Dimitre Onciul (1899, 1919-1920, 1968), for example,
theorized that Asenid Vlachia did not lie South, but North of the Danube,
functioning, for a while, as a genuine confederation on both sides of the
river. According to this theory, the two parts were separated, once again,
by the Tartars. At this point, the Romanians entered into a feudal
relationship with the Hungarian Kingdom and continued a type of
civilization that was pervaded by significant Slavic-Byzantine elements
inherited from the Bulgarian czarist tradition. On the other hand,
Alexandru D. Xenopol (1884, 1885, 1893, 1891), who did not see eye to
eye with Onciul and rightly considered the hypothesis of the latter to be
insufficiently documented, adopted an extreme point of view whereby he
questioned – with certain contradictions and second thoughts – the whole
hypothesis concerning the Romanianity of the Vlach people and their
language. He was tempted to identify them as an ethnic group, and their
language, as Romanic, not as Romanian.
Coming closer to the truth, but at the same time severely criticizing and
rejecting Onciul’s theory, Bogdan Petriceicu Hasdeu (1878, 1898) persisted
in viewing Balkan Romanians as simple Romanians, and the idioms that
they spoke, as dialects of the Romanian language. He also understood
intuitively that the so-called Albanian influence observable in Romanian
was nothing but the effect of the Thracian-Illyric impact on all the
languages of the Balkan peoples, regardless of whether they were Latin or
Slav (in fact, an argument in favour of continuity). By proposing the
hypothesis of the ethnic persistence of Romanized or Slavonized Thracians
and, in this way, echoing the words of other foreign scholars, among whom
the representatives of the incipient Viennese school of Balkanology were
the most important, Hasdeu (1878, 1898) dealt a heavy blow to theories
that over-stressed Latinization, and paved the way for a better
understanding of the process of formation of the Romanian people, both
the Daco-Romanians and the Balkan Romanians.
Although at the start of his career he hesitated to attribute a Romanian
ethnic character to the Balkan Vlachs and refrained from identifying
dialects of the Romanian language in the idioms that they spoke, Nicolae
Iorga ended up by accepting the traditional viewpoint to be found in
Romanian historical writing in this respect and even wrote a brief history
of the Balkan Peninsula Romanians (1919). Although this work is very
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N.-Ş. TANAŞOCA
suggestive and expresses views of great interest, it is, at the same time,
imbued with highly personal opinions. For instance, Iorga advanced a
theory (unconfirmed by the sources, however) according to which Asenid
Vlachia and the Great Thessalian Vlachia were one and the same.
Nevertheless, Nicolae Iorga made a tremendous contribution to the field
by including the question of the historical development of Balkan
Peninsula Romanians, with all its specific points, into the general picture
of the evolution of all of Southeastern European Romanity and of the
Romanian people. He revealed fundamental similarities, analogies, and
identities linking the existence of Balkan and of Daco-Romanity. Iorga
viewed the situation from a world historical perspective. He closely studied
the lives of the Romanian people both as successors of the ancient Roman
and Romanized populations of Southeastern Europe and as citizens of the
Roman Empire within the scope of the vast European restructuring that
occurred as a result of the clash between the barbarians and the Empire.
Iorga (1922) developed a basically sound theory, the details of which
might, however, need some refinement. It describes so-called “popular”
Romanias or “countries”, which during the invasions, formed islands of
Latinity that were spared and exploited by the invaders. They were thus
able to preserve their tradition of civilization and their attitude of
superiority in regard to the invaders over the whole contact area. The
Southeastern European Romanians (i.e., the North and South-Danubian
Vlachias) were the core areas. From these cores, found to the right and to
the left of the Danube, the Romanian states in old Dacia and the Vlach
autonomies in the Balkans arose and expanded.
Thanks to the representatives of South-Danubian Romanity and
particularly to scholars who were formed within the Aromanian national
renaissance movement that was evoked above, the quality of Romanian
historiography and linguistics devoted specifically to questions of Balkan
Romanity during the first half of the Twentieth Century improved notably.
From that time on, because, on the one hand, the scholars concerned
knew their native environment well and, on the other hand, because of the
natural evolution toward objectivity and accuracy, linked to a stronger
assertion of the critical spirit in history and the social sciences, the world
of the Balkan Romanians would no longer be studied simply in order to
find explanations regarding the origins of the Romanian people and of their
cultural and political forms in the Middle Ages, but also as a subject in its
own right. In terms of historiography, Ioan J. Caragiani, whose work was
published long after his death, in 1929 and 1941, and later on, George
Murnu (1905, 1906, 1907, 1913, 1939, reprinted in 1984), were initiators
of this type of concern, and both of them produced studies about the
Aromanian past. Studies of this type were taken to a high level by
historians such as Valeriu Papahagi (1935, 1937), who did massive
research in the archives of Venice on the Aromanian role in the trade
between the West and the East, as well as other contributions in the field.
In a similar vein, Victor Papacostea (1929, 1931a, 1931b, 1937, 1939a,
1939b, reprinted in 1983), holder of the Chair of History of Balkan
BALKAN ROMANITY
101
Peninsula Romanians at the University of Bucharest, made insightful
contributions to the knowledge about the national renaissance movement
of the Moscopolis Aromanians.
Progress in linguistics linked to the advanced study of European
Romanics, of the Romanian language, and of Balkan Romanian dialects
reached a high level of scientific performance through the work of scholars
such as Tache Papahagi (1932) and Theodor Capidan (1925-1928,1932,
1942, 1943), specialists in the Aromanians and the Megleno-Romanians.
The work accomplished has been continued and perfected by a younger
generation of scholars, in particular, Elena Scărlătoiu (1979, 1980, 1991,
1992, 1998), Gheorghe Carageani, and Nicolae Saramandu (1884), and
Matilda Caragiu-Marioţeanu (1975, 1993).
Research on the Western group of Balkan Romanians as well as on the
Haemus Romanian group and the Asenid Vlachs has been primarily the
work of the Cluj School as an extension of the already existing work in the
field. An example is the work of Sextil Puşcariu (1906, 1926, 1929) in the
domain of linguistics and of research on the Istro-Romanians. In the same
connection, one should cite the writings of Silviu Dragomir (1959), in
particular his rich and valuable historical investigations regarding the
Romanians in the North of the Balkan Peninsula and along the Dalmatian
coast. In the same Cluj circle, Nicolae Bănescu (1943) dealt with the
genesis and the character of the Asenid state, defending, in opposition to
the views of Bulgarian historians, the Romanity of the founding dynasty
and the critical role played by the Balkan Romanians in the restoration of
the Czardom.
The field is indebted to a generation of historians who grouped
themselves around the Revista istorică română [Romanian Historical
Review] for an important and new approach to the history of the
relationship between Balkan Romanity and North-Danubian Romanians.
The various members of this group have adopted some of N. Iorga’s older
ideas, while viewing them with a critical eye and lending them a modern
touch. These historians have tried to rethink the sensitive issues of the
origins of the Romanian states in the Middle Ages. Thanks to Gheorghe I.
Brătianu (1945), who not only rehabilitated the foundation theory, but also
the value of tradition as a historical source, it became possible to evaluate
the political history of the Asenids in the light of world history, in a new
way, which better explains why the Balkan Romanians disappeared from
the history of the Czardom during the second half of the Thirteenth
Century and why the Bulgarian view of this imperial state has been
irrevocably successful. Romanian historians identified these reasons from
among foreign policy issues that forced the Asenids - as a means of
countering the Hungarian claims to supremacy in the Balkans – to adopt
the papal argument for the legitimacy of their state, thus resurrecting the
doubtful precedent whereby certain old Bulgarian czars were crowned by
Rome. Through the efforts of Petre P. Panaitescu (1929, 1944, postum
work 1969), who considerably enlarged the documentary basis for research
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N.-Ş. TANAŞOCA
through the discovery of new sources imparting information about the
Romanity of the Asenids, N. Iorga’s theory (1922) in regard to “popular”
Romanias (Vlachias) gained acceptance in terms of contents and insights.
As could be expected, the question of Balkan Romanity became a subject
of this field of research. Finally, Constantin C. Giurescu (1931) undertook
a thorough and critical study of sources. By doing so, he managed to
completely do away with the theory whereby the Vlachia of the Asenids lay
either North of the Danube, or in Thessaly, bringing it back to the Haemus
Mountains and to ancient Moesia. Indeed, in his synthesis of Romanian
history (1936), C. C. Giurescu produced an integrated history of the
Balkan Romanians from their beginnings to modern times.
Following the Second World War, the intensity of Romanian research on
the Balkan Romanians subsided for a while, owing to certain political
scruples that were never openly admitted and to the wishes of the
Romanian State and of its cultural personalities not to be perceived as
continuing the pre-war Balkan Romanity policy. According to the latter,
the Romanian government had promoted the cultural, educational, and
religious autonomy of the Aromanians as well as the principle of special
links between them and Romania proper based on the common Romanity
of Aromanians and Romanians. Thus, the existing Romanian schools and
churches in the Balkan Peninsula were closed, and historical and even
linguistic studies of the South-Danubian Romanians were to a certain
extent neglected.
Ion Coteanu (1957) and Alexandru Graur (1955; 1956), introduced into
linguistic research the theory that the Balkan Romanian dialects developed
and turned into independent languages because they were massively
pervaded, due to progressive bilingualism, by allogeneic linguistic elements
– South Slav or Greek. This theory was rejected by Alexandru Rosetti
(1958), who transformed the whole debate into a welcome opportunity to
clarify a general issue of linguistics, the definition of a dialect in relation to
a given language. Through other researchers, like, for instance, Ştefan
Ştefănescu (1963, 1965, and, 1971) and Eugen Stănescu (1970), D.
Onciul’s ideas about such matters as the North-Danubian extraction of
Asenid Vlachia were brought up again. Although neither researcher
generated any new valid points or a proper response to the objections
raised by the critics of this theory in the past, their work was fruitful from
the standpoint of the development of a cordial relationship with Bulgarian
historians who tended to accept this thesis.
Still, such a hypothesis did not solve the problem of the entrance of
Vlachia into the discussion. True enough, S. Dragomir (1959) published a
comprehensive study of the Vlachs who lived in the Northern Balkan
Peninsula, but he had conceived it a number of years earlier. All references
to Balkan Romanians disappeared from Romanian history syntheses that
limited themselves to the territory of the contemporary Romanian State.
Finally, a tendency developed to replace the term, “Balkan Romanians“
with the term, “Vlachs“, in order to distinguish them from the so-called
“genuine” Romanians who lived North of the Danube and in Dobrudja.
BALKAN ROMANITY
103
Recent years have given rise to important changes in the emphasis of
research. There has been, for instance, a surge in concern for the
integration of the history of the Balkan Romanians into national Romanian
history. In parallel with the appearance of certain cultural products in the
Aromanian dialect and with the republishing of older texts, increasing
efforts are being made to study the past and to present the Balkan
Romanians in a systematic manner.
The result of this interest is giving rise to a great deal of scholarly
activity in regard to Balkan Romanians, both to those in the Balkan
countries, where they are perceived as Vlachs and are distinguished from
the North-Danubian Romanians, and to those in other parts of the world.
Romanian researchers, for instance, have given and are still giving special
attention to the problems faced by the Byzantine Empire Vlachs (E.
Stănescu, 1970; Stelian Brezeanu, 1997; Nicolae-Şerban Tanaşoca, 1974,
1984, 1989, in, E. Stănescu, 1989, and 1997; N.-Ş. Tanaşoca and Anca
Tanaşoca, 1989; Petre Şerban Năsturel 1977-1978), in medieval Serbia,
(N.-Ş. Tanaşoca and A. Tanaşoca, 1994; A. Tanaşoca, 1995), and in the
Ottoman Empire (A. Tanaşoca, 1981). They are also rethinking the place of
the Asenids in Romanian and Southeastern European history (N.-Ş.
Tanaşoca, 1981, 1987, 1989, in, Stănescu, E. 1989, and 1989; St.
Brezeanu, 1997; Sergiu Iosipescu, 1916), as well as the place of the
Aromanians in Romanian general history (Neagu Djuvara et al. 1996). New
evidence has been brought to light (Şerban Papacostea, 1983), and the
older attestations of the Romanity of the Balkan Romanians have been
studied in the contexts of research aimed at the generation of historical
synthesis (Adolf Armbruster, 1977). Linguistics experts have studied the
dialects of the Romanian language, M. Caragiu-Marioţeanu (1975, 1993),
Gh. Carageani (1987, 1988, 1991, 1993), N. Saramandu (1984), E.
Scărlătoiu (1979, 1980, 1991, 1992, 1998), and Haralambie Mihăescu
(1966, 1993). Special attention has been and is being devoted to the study
of musical and artistic folklore, as well as to the customs and the
ethnography of Balkan Romanians (P. Marcu, H. Stahl, Paul Petrescu,
Irina Nicolau, and L. Marcu).
To summarize and to briefly describe the main features and tendencies
of Romanian research on Balkan Romanians, the following ideas emerge:
With few exceptions, Romanian scholars have always considered that
research on the history, the language, and the culture of Balkan
Romanians – or Vlachs, as they are called by the peoples among whom
they live and in the sources about them – is part and parcel of research in
Romanian studies in general, including historical, linguistic, and culture
studies. At the same time, Romanian scholars recognize that the destiny of
the South-Danubian Romanian people was different from that of the
North-Danubian Romanians.
At first, the Romanian scholars active in the domain of Balkan
Romanity attempted to clarify all the issues related to Romanian medieval
state creation and ethnogenesis, as well as all those linked to the origins of
the forms of culture and civilization in which the spiritual lives of the
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ancient Daco-Romanians developed. Later on, they began to study Balkan
Romanity in and for itself, as a major Balkan reality, knowledge of which
would be useful to scholars in obtaining a better understanding of the life
in the Peninsula as a whole. Although some subjective tendencies in the
past influenced the study of this question, Romanian scholarship has
constantly attempted to be as objective as possible in its efforts. Research
was never called upon to provide justifications for political expansion in
the Balkans.
At the same time, it is necessary to admit that despite all the successful
research undertaken in this direction, a full corpus of sources on Balkan
Romanians has not yet been developed, at least not in terms of
historiography and of historical linguistics. A need remains for a set of
comprehensive working instruments (bibliographies, lexicons, and
cartographic works) and a synthesis measuring up to contemporary
academic standards regarding this question.
3. Tendencies in Foreign Research on Balkan Romanians
Western humanist historical writing, the roots of which can be found in
Byzantine historical writing, has also, in its turn, been interested in
Balkan Romanians, the Vlachs mentioned in various sources, who blended
their fate with that of Byzantium and of the Balkan Peninsula Slavs. The
Vlachs appear to have been equally involved in peaceful as well as in
conflicting relationships with the Constantinople Latin Empire and with
the Levantine Frankish groups. Foreign travellers encountered them
throughout the Ottoman Empire. The Balkan Vlachs drew the attention to
Southeastern Europe of humanist researchers who felt the need to define
the ethnic individuality and the origin of these people, without making
them the focus of any special works.
Byzantine and Western humanist historiography display the incipient
elements of certain theories regarding the ethnic individuality and the
origins of the Balkan Peninsula Vlachs that have been further developed in
modern academic histories.
By virtue of a classicizing and archaizing tendency, Byzantine
historians designated the Vlachs according to names derived from ancient
literary models: Dacos, Getae, Moesians. These names corresponded to the
provinces in which the Vlachs had been known to live, which in their turn
were also given archaizing names. Thus Vlachs were designated as Dacos,
if they inhabited what had been known as Dacia, and Moesians, if they
lived in what had been known as ancient Moesia. In addition to these
archaizing names, frequent use was made of the usual and colloquial term,
Vlachoi, an equivalent of the previously mentioned archaizing words, which
covered both South and North-Danubian Romanians. This method was
used, for instance, by Nicetas Choniates, the historian of the Asenid
uprising.
In order to be less pedantic, Western humanist historical writing
preferred to use such terms as Blaci, Blachi, or Valachi, obviously
BALKAN ROMANITY
105
borrowed from the Byzantine environment, where crusaders had their first
contacts with Balkan Romanians. Often enough, so-called corrupt words,
such as Blasci, Blacti, etc., came to be used because of lack of a direct
knowledge of local realities. French chroniclers of the Fourth Crusade
adjusted these terms to their national language – old French – and the
result was Blas, Blac, Blascois, next to which corrupt forms also appear in
some of the works of later writers.
According to most scholars, the word, Vlach, used by Byzantine writers
to designate Romanians, is of Slavic origin. But even in the case of the
Slavs, it was the result of a loan from Old German – wolch/wloch. Indeed,
the Byzantine Empire may have taken the term directly from the Germanic
peoples. Successively borrowed by all the peoples who came into contact
with the Romanians in Southeastern Europe and adapted to the phonetic
systems of the various languages to be found there, the ethnonym, Vlachs,
initially designated the Latin language citizens of the Roman Empire and,
in general, the speakers of all Romance languages. In their turn, Italians
were named in Slavic languages and in Hungarian with words from the
same family: vlasi, olaszok (the Hungarian olahok = Romanians). By virtue
of its use, the term, Vlachs, used to designate Romanians, indicates that
users of the term were aware of the Romanity of the people concerned, and
later, of the individuality of the Vlachs among Romanic peoples. At the
same time, the fact that this term was used to designate both North- and
South-Danubian Romanians is an indication of an awareness of a unity
common to all the groups of Romanians in Southeastern Europe.
This awareness was expressed in the Eleventh Century by Kinnamos,
who considered that Romanians were Italian colonists. In the Fifteenth
Century, Laonikos Chalcocondyles, knowing of the Italic roots of
Romanians, also asserted his belief in the unity of Romanians from Dacia
to the Pindus and admitted that he was incapable of saying where the
initial homeland really lay, South or North of the Danube.
Western humanist historical writing adopted this view not only as a
result of the contacts of individual writers with Byzantine scholars, but
also as the result of direct links with Romanians living North and South of
the Danube, made possible by the Papacy and its attempts at
proselytizing. In the later exchanges between Pope Innocent III and Ioniţă
(Kaloyan) at the end of the Twelfth and the beginning of the Thirteenth
Centuries, the Balkan Romanians were viewed as successors to the
Romans, an idea that was turned into an instrument of pressure by both
parties. In the one case, the idea was intended to serve the cause of
Catholic conversion, and in the other, that of the recognition of the
sovereignty of the Asenid State.
Evidence of the Romanity of the Balkan Romanians was frequently
manifested throughout the centuries. For instance, the Ninth Century
testimony of Dioclea’s presbyter perceived the Dalmatian coast
“Mavrovlachs” or “Morlachs“ as “Latini Nigri”. In the case of Seventeenth
Century classic Byzantinology, particularly a specific reference to Charles
Du Fresne Du Cange (1657) and his comments on Geoffroy de
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N.-Ş. TANAŞOCA
Villehardouin’s chronicle, a remark can be found according to which
Vlachs, including Ioniţă and his people, were of Roman origin, exactly what
Byzantine writers and the previously mentioned pontifical correspondence
assumed to be the case.
Western and Byzantine humanist writers were not the only writers who
were aware of the Romanic origins and the Romanian ethnic identity of the
Balkan Vlachs. There was also, for instance, Johannes Lucius Dalmata
(Ivan Lučić), a Croat humanist in Trau, a Seventeenth Century Slav, who
maintained direct contacts with Balkan Romanians. He devoted a special
chapter to them in his work on the Kingdom of Croatia and Dalmatia
(1966) and was keen about their Romanic origins, citing not only their
(Romanic) language, but other supporting evidence taken from the
pontifical correspondence with Ioniţă and from the works of various
Byzantine writers. Another important point made by Lučić was that not
only King Ioniţă of the Vlachs and Bulgarians was a Balkan Romanic, but
also John Hunyady, the regent of Hungary. The theory that the SouthDanubian Romanians and the Romanians of ancient Dacia were one and
the same was so deeply rooted in Lučić’s mind that he was one of the first
humanists to suggest that former Dacia should be repopulated with the
descendants of those Romanians who had been taken prisoner by the
Bulgarians after the latter had conquered Moesia. Later portions of this
study will return to other aspects of Lučić’s interpretation of the word,
Vlach.
Unlike the case of Western humanist historiography that makes
frequent mention of Romanians and of the Romanity of their language,
Byzantine historical writing makes very few references to Vlach Romanity
despite the large number of writings in Greek. This situation is all the
more surprising in that the Romanians themselves, as mentioned above,
did not call themselves Vlachs, but only Romanians, in the known
dialectal variants of their language.
Byzantine writers alleged that the Romanians began to call themselves
Vlachs to mask the fact of their “barbarization”. This implication, which
also arose because of the paucity of information about Vlach origins, has a
simple ideological explanation. It is known that the Byzantine authorities
considered themselves to be Romaioi, Romans, the only legitimate
perpetuators of the Roman Empire. The Latinophone element in the
Empire, finding itself in an endemic state of conflict with the Greek
element, was not looked upon kindly. As the Empire was gradually
Hellenized, Latin Romanics were viewed as a factor of papal subversion.
The problem became more complicated as Rome, on the one hand, and
Constantinople, on the other hand, claimed the right of ecclesiastic rule
over Illyria. After the ethnic Hellenization of the Byzantine Empire had
been fully completed and the Romanic mass torn off its body as a result of
the Slavic invasion, their settlement in the North of the Balkan Peninsula
followed by that of the Bulgarians, Constantinople conceded the existence
of the Romanics, the Romanians, and the Vlachs, allowing them to be
shepherded by the Slavic church. In the Eleventh Century, when the
BALKAN ROMANITY
107
Romanians, renamed Vlachs, found themselves once again inside the
borders of the Empire, they were perceived by Byzantium as an ethnic
group the members of which did not belong to the Empire and which acted
as a barbarian carrier of Slavonic culture. The fact that Ioniţă’s Romanians
were converted to Catholicism, after negotiations during which the idea of
Vlach ethnic Romanity played a key role, could not help but develop in the
Byzantine mind the idea that an assertion of Romanian Romanity reflected
a diminished commitment to the Empire.
On the contrary, through the efforts of writers, such as the Eleventh
Century Kekaumenos, one witnesses, for the first time in Byzantine
historical writing, a tendency to question the Romanity of the Vlachs. The
above-mentioned author is the first to speak of the Daco and Bessic origins
of the Vlachs, considering them to be permanent potential rebels against a
Roman Empire that, in the meantime, had been Hellenized and that had
been previously ruled by Trajan, none other than the Emperor who had
defeated Decebalus. However, one should observe that Byzantine thinkers
did not feel the need to draw up a scholarly theory of the non-Romanic
origins of the Balkan or of the North-Danubian Romanians. They limited
themselves either to neglecting the Romanic origin of the Romanians and
its possible political implications, or to harshly criticizing them and putting
them into an extremely bad light. The same attitude toward the ethnic or
linguistic Romanity of the neo-Latin peoples of Western Europe, the same
tendency to “barbarize” them and to view them as objects of principled
hostility, can be found throughout Byzantine historical writing. In the
Byzantine vision of things, the case of the Romanians was not unique
among that of Romanics as a whole.
The traditional humanist view of the ethnic identity of the Romanity of
the North- and South-Danubian Romanians dominated scholarly thinking,
with a few exceptions like those cited above, until the Nineteenth Century.
Not even the Eighteenth Century opponents of Romanian continuity in
ancient Dacia (J. C. Engel, 1794; J. C. Eder, 1791; F. J. Sulzer, 17811782) or the Nineteenth Century ones (W. Thomaschek, 1868, 1881; R.
Roesler, 1871; P. Hunfalvy. 1883, 1887, etc.) ever thought of questioning
these traditional truths. The controversy surrounding the Transylvanian
School and Romanian historiography and historical writing only focused
on the possible location of the original Romanian homeland, which the
supporters of continuity placed both North and South – or only North – of
the Danube, while its opponents thought it to be exclusively South of the
Danube.
At the same time, the Nineteenth Century witnessed such a powerful
assertion of modern national states and cultures that it is considered to
have been the “century of nationalities”. If, to Romanians, the Nineteenth
Century brought about the union of the two Principalities into a unitary
state as well as the beginning of the political unification and the winning of
state independence for the Balkan peoples, the Slavs and the Greeks, the
same Century witnessed the rebirth of their independent political
existences, the reestablishment of states that had been suppressed by the
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N.-Ş. TANAŞOCA
Ottoman conquest, and a cultural assertion in the modern and national
languages of these peoples. In forms that cannot be closely examined in
this study, the Yugoslav peoples, the Bulgarians, and the Greeks gave free
rein – each one in its own way – to the Romantic stream of thought that
accompanied national movements all over Europe.
According to the Romantic credo, each nation is the embodiment of a
metaphysical and eternal principle, as well as of a national idea, while the
history of each nation is the organic development of this spiritual entity at
the earthly level. The writing of history is called upon to expose the
national soul of this development and to provide national selfconsciousness to each and every nation, thus enhancing its assertion in
the contemporary world. Conceived along these lines, Romanticized history
made an undisputed contribution to the assertion of modern national
cultures and to the stimulation of the so-called constructive impetus of
peoples organized in the new forms of national and democratic states. At
the same time, it also distorted, to some extent, the image of the past held
by given peoples, who described themselves through modern, national,
and democratic visions of the concepts of state and culture.
Romanticized history may have been more distorting in the Balkan
Peninsula than elsewhere for a number of reasons. On the one hand, the
all-around level of education and culture following the Ottoman
domination was rather low. On the other hand, there were certain specific
circumstances, such as the existence of an imperial Byzantine-like state
form in the medieval past of the Balkan peoples and ethnic
interpenetration in the Peninsula, as a result of which each national state
had its allogeneic minorities. In such conditions (but with a few
honourable exceptions), Greek, Bulgarian, and Serbian historians have
tended to nationalize the embodiments of the old empires and czardoms to
be found in the past of their nations, over-exalting their political structures
at the peaks of their extension and crediting them with an ethnic
homogeneity that they certainly did not have. They also tried to hide the
presence of minorities within their territorial perimeters and to diminish
the historical contributions of the latter to the common life of the
Peninsula. The result has been a number of historiographic wars carried
out in parallel with armed struggles at the beginning of the Twentieth
Century by the Balkan states liberated from Ottoman rule.
The ways in which the history and the languages of the Balkan
Romanians were described during these years represent a typical case of
the sorts of Balkan excesses perpetrated by Romanticism. One by one, the
Yugoslavs, the Greeks, and the Bulgarians, followed by the Albanians in
the Twentieth Century, questioned and dissembled the Romanian
presence in their countries and history. In order to preserve the organic
homogeneity of their ethnic contents and to avoid wronging their national
tutelary geniuses, they tried through various means to remove the
inconvenient Vlachs from their history. Of course, there were networks of
Romanian schools and Romanian national churches which, according to
the statesmen of Balkan bourgeois national countries, could serve to
BALKAN ROMANITY
109
encourage the assertion of a Romanian national minority viewed as a
potential instrument of the Romanian State and at all moments as an
allogeneic factor that was all the more suspect as it tended to manifest
itself actively in the economic and cultural lives of the host countries.
Starting with the work of Konstantinos Koumas (1832), Greek historical
writing, for instance, questioned the Romanity of those Vlachs inhabiting
Greece and considered them to be nothing but Romanized Hellenes. This
theory, later adopted by other scholars, was systematized in an extreme
and easy to attack form by a cultivated Greek archaeologist, Antonios
Keramopoulos (1939), in the 1930s and, in recent times, it became the
quasi-official version of the treatment of the origins of the Aromanians in
the writings of Greek history. This view was adopted in spite of the fact
that a whole number of historians and philologists, such as Konstantinos
Paparigopoulos (1885), Panaiotis Aravantinos (1905), and Nikolaos Veis,
had favoured the similarity of ethnic identity on the part of Romanians and
Aromanians and had defined the Aromanian idioms as dialects of the
Romanian language. Nevertheless, the situation evolved so far that it has
become currently possible for certain Greek philologists, such as Achileas
Lazarou (1986) (given the insufficient development of Romanian linguistics
in Greece) to claim that the Aromanian dialect of Greece comes from Old
Greek or that the influence of the Greek language caused such structural
changes in the dialect as to eliminate its Romanic character. But Greek
historians do not question the Romanic character of the Vlachs living
outside the real or ideal national territory of the Greek state and do not try
to explain the identity of the ethnic name, Vlachs, given by the Greeks to
all Romanians, not only to the Aromanians.
Bulgarian historical writing and historiography too have tried to
completely remove Romanians from the medieval history of Bulgaria. The
father of modern Bulgarian historical writing, the verbose compiler, Paisij
Hilandarski (1972), still felt the need to explain the unbelievable situation
described by the sources – i.e., that the Asenids were perceived as Vlachs
rather than as Bulgarians because the two brothers, John and Peter Asen,
had lived for a long time in Walachia and were consequently called Vlachs
by their fellow countrymen – his successors did not bother to make such
efforts. However, Marin Drinov (1915), the first critical Bulgarian historian,
while admitting that Romanians took part in the Asenid uprising, lived in
the Haemus region, and contributed to the restoration of the Czardom,
denied, yet without being able to cite any evidence whatsoever, the ethnic
origin of the dynasty as stated by the sources, claiming that the Asenids
could have had any ethnic origin but Romanian.
Generally speaking, Bulgarian historical writing takes over, exaggerates,
and develops a set of theories that were advanced by Constantin Jireček
(1879, 1901-1904, 1912), for whom the designation, Vlach, in Medieval
sources is not a mere etymon designating Romanians, but also a socioprofessional term meaning shepherd. Moreover, Jireček (1876) supported
the thesis of the Bulgarian origin of the Asenid dynasty. Another source of
inspiration is Feodor Uspenskij (1879), whose thesis was that, out of sheer
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N.-Ş. TANAŞOCA
hostility toward the Bulgarians, Byzantine writers overlooked them,
choosing instead to write about the Vlachs.
Through the works of scholars such as Vasil Zlatarski (1933, 1934,
1940) and Petăr Mutafčiev (1928, 1932), these theories became dogmas of
Bulgarian historiography. In the debate between Bulgarian and Romanian
historians on this topic, the latter were and still are accused by the former
of chauvinism and Romanian, anti-Bulgarian imperialism simply because
they try to defend the veracity of the sources that attest the important part
played by the Romanians in the restoration of the Czardom. Not even the
deliberate choice of a materialistic conception of history, following the
Second World War, succeeded in changing the position of Bulgarian
historiography in this respect. On the contrary, Bulgarian historians have
frequently thought that they could identify, with reference to historical
materialism, further ideological elements capable of supporting their
position and have criticized either the bourgeois nationalism or the
unscientific spirit of Romanian and other foreign historians who have
preferred to remain faithful to the written sources and to support the
special importance of Romanian participation in the anti-Byzantine
uprising at the end of the Twelfth Century, as well as the Romanian ethnic
origins of the Asenids. Not even a medievalist such as Borislav Primov
(1971) who, having been inspired by the research of the Soviet historian,
Ghenadi G. Litavrin (1960), aimed at a fair criticism of both Bulgarian and
Romanian scholarly literature on this issue, managed to rid himself of
certain traditional and national prejudices and to avoid the unwarranted
ideologizing tendency already mentioned in his evaluation of the sources
and of the secondary literature that both parties devoted to this matter.
Recent Bulgarian historical writing is characterized by a recrudescence
of the tendency to deny credit to the Romanians for the restoration of the
Bulgarian Czardom. Historians like Vasil Gjuzelev (1989) and Ivan Božilov
(1980, 1985), who utterly ignore the source data and the works of modern
and contemporary scholars having addressed the problem, accuse
Romanian scholars of tampering with the sources. Gjuzelev and Božilov
question both the competence and the probity of foreign researchers whose
opinions support the Romanian point of view. Others, like Genoveva
Cankova-Petkova (1978) and Dimităr Angelov (1984), merely overlook the
valid points made by Romanian historians and refer to the works of Vasil
Zlatarski (1933, 1934, 1940), P. Mutafčiev (1928, 1932), P. Nikov (1937),
and B. Primov (1971) as if they had irrevocably settled the matter of the
participation of Romanians in the restoration of the Czardom. Ivan Dujčev
(1942, 1985) suggests that the Romanian viewpoint was only expressed in
certain works of “popularization”.
A forthcoming academic treatise on Bulgarian history rejects as
unsupported by the sources, as unscientific, the view held by Romanian
historians who – without denying the Bulgarian role, particularly the
function of the Bulgarian imperial traditional ideology and the importance
of the Bulgarian Church in the restoration of the Czardom – have
BALKAN ROMANITY
111
attempted to read the sources dating back to that time and to discuss the
Romanian contribution to this event.
The objections of scholars from outside the Balkan Peninsula to such
Bulgarian historical writing have been strong and constant, beginning in
the Nineteenth Century and continuing to the present day. Nineteenth
Century Russian Byzantinologist, Vasili Vassilevsky (1879), and Austrian
historian, Constantin von Höfler (1879), as well as contemporary American
historian, Robert Lee Wolff (1949), Francis Dvornik (1968), a Czech
historian of the Slav world, and the Russian scholar, G. G. Litavrin (1960,
1972, 1985), have taken positions of varying intensity against the alleged
exaggerations of Bulgarian historians, coming closer to the Romanian
position as synthesised by N. Bănescu (1943). Bulgarian scholars,
however, have never taken these objections seriously, not even to the
extent of attempting a rejection by means of proper counter-arguments.
It is a simple matter to identify the inconsistencies in and the
incoherence of the ways in which, out of sheer nationalist prejudice,
Bulgarian historians try hard to remove Romanians from the past of their
own people. Thus, they sometimes recognize the ethnic meaning of the
word, Vlach, but they will consider that if it does not always designate
Bulgarians, it does not designate Romanians either. They only do this,
however, in the cases of those Vlachs who are identified as having lived
outside medieval Bulgaria, in Thessaly, or North of the Danube. They feel
no need to say anything about the criteria by which, when interpreting the
same texts, they decide if the focus is to lie on the ethnic or on the socioprofessional meaning of the term.
In keeping with this totally arbitrary procedure, Vlachs are Romanians,
when the aim is to prove that the Bulgarian Czardom included the
Romanian territories lying North of the Danube, but they became Moesian
Bulgarians, when the aim is to show that Romanians did not participate in
the Asenid uprising and to deny the Romanian origin of the dynasty. Yet
the sources for that period claim that the Asenids were Vlachs. Sometimes,
indeed, there have been times when Bulgarian historians have simply
avoided any reference to the word, Vlach, in regard to their territories,
deleting it from the sources that they quote. One should also add that in
Bulgarian academic studies, such distortions of the historical truth about
Balkan Romanity could easily occur because of the poor development of
Romanian studies in Bulgaria, a situation giving rise to similar
exaggerations about the Romanian language and its Balkan dialects.
The views on Balkan Romanity that have been held by Yugoslav
academics have been somewhat more flexible. On the one hand, they
promoted studies in Romance languages through a school of linguistics
the achievements of which have been impressive, as, for instance, in the
case of the work of such a scholar as Petar Skok (1918). The Yugoslavs
also developed a comprehensive school of Balkan historical geography –
the so-called Jovan Cvijic School (1918) – which, in its turn, promoted a
large number of field studies and a general open-mindedness in the
approach to all research, including that focusing on ethnic minorities.
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N.-Ş. TANAŞOCA
Unlike in Greece or in Bulgaria, the general academic level has been high,
and the aspiration to objectivity, accordingly, strong. For Yugoslav
scholars, Balkan Romanians are a linguistic, ethnographic, sociological,
and historical concern, but not one that might necessarily be a point of
divergence with Romanian historiography and linguistics or with other
scientific/academic schools. Yugoslav academics have made an important
contribution to the understanding of the role and the social, political, and
legal status of the Vlachs in the currently extinct Western Romanian
group. They have also made contributions to the study of Ottoman Empire
Vlachs and of their status. In addition, they have made significant
contributions to research on the Megleno-Romanian and Aromanian
dialects. Serbian historian, Duśan Popović (1937), is the author of a
memorable and, in its own way, exemplary work – O Cincarima – on the
Aromanian role in the economic life of Serbia. He proved that, along with
the Greeks, Aromanians played a critical role in the beginning of the
modern history of Serbia, when the bourgeois economy emerged and began
to develop. D. Popović is also the author of some outstanding pages on the
Aromanian contribution to the development of all the Balkan peoples
among whom they mixed and by whom the Aromanians were eventually
assimilated. Finally, recent research on the Vlachs in Yugoslavia was
assisted by the holding, periodically, of international symposia organized
under the aegis of the Bosnian Academy.
However, there is a problem in the attempted solution of which even
Yugoslav scholars have been somewhat influenced by a historiographical
Romanticism pervaded by certain nationalist prejudices. This problem
concerns the ethnic identity of the Vlachs in old Serbia as well as the
semantic value of the term, Vlach, in medieval sources. All Yugoslav
historians recognize references in the sources to the initial existence of
certain Balkan Romanics called Vlachs. They agree that the very word,
Vlach, is indicative of the Romanity of these old Balkan inhabitants.
Croatian historians, writing at the turn of the Nineteenth and Twentieth
Centuries, such as Franjo Rački (1881), Vjekoslav Klaić (1897, 1899-1911,
1901), and Radoslav Lopašić (1890, 1894) claim that “Vlachs are native
inhabitants, Latins or Romanized Illyrians, who underwent slavicization”.
Stojan Novaković recognizes the initial Romanic origin of Vlachs, but
thinks that they were able to maintain this identity for only a very short
time after the arrival of the Slavs. For P. Skok (1918), the Vlachs initially
were Romanic shepherds living in hamlets. Milenko Filipović (1963), an
outstanding ethnologist in present day Yugoslavia, also recognizes the
existence of local Romanics, called Vlachs, who later underwent
Slavicization when coming into contact with the Serbs. He asserts that
they pervaded the toponymy with traces of their Romanity (1973,
published 1983, p. 154). The contemporary researcher, Vasa Čubrilović
(1983, pp. 153-154), gives the following definition of a Vlach:
In the first centuries when Slavs settled in the Balkans, a Vlach was
somebody based in the Peninsula, who spoke a Romanic language
BALKAN ROMANITY
113
and usually lived in the mountains, where he raised cattle.
Throughout the years, Vlachs spread all over the Peninsula and were
subject to Slavicization.
But what most Yugoslav historians identify, when referring to the
Vlachs mentioned in the Croat and Serbian medieval sources, are the
Vlachs who are ascribed a status of their own in Yugoslav medieval
political structures. Thus, these historians view Vlachs as a social category
rather than as an ethnic group. Drawing upon his authority in Serbian
modern history, S. Novaković (1891, 1911, 1912) launched and imposed
the view that the name Vlach or Vlaski designated a people who inhabited
the Balkans prior to the arrival of the Slavs. This name, he argued, was
given to Balkan shepherds by the Goths or by other Germanic populations.
The Serbs accepted the term and its “economic rather that ethnic”
meaning as a sort of legacy. Novaković states that the word marks not so
much the ethnic group as the condition and life style of nomadic
shepherds, as opposed to that of settled farmers. According to him, in
Serbian medieval documents, Vlachs are always perceived as shepherds
and never as a non-Slavic ethnic group. Therefore he thinks that, as early
as the Thirteenth Century, the word, Vlach, designated a social category
irrespective of ethnic origin, rather than an ethnic group. Almost all
Yugoslav historians have accepted this theory, even if some of them have
added some critical caveats to it.
Yugoslav historians have not reached full consensus about the
relationship between the Romanic population found by the Slavs and
called Vlachs and the later social category, including Romanics, who did
not undergo Slavicization and possibly other non-Romanic ethnic
elements. Even the personal opinions of various students of this matter
give proof of a certain evolution through time, reflecting greater or lesser
degrees of hesitation. P. Skok (1918) and M. Filipović (1963) clearly state
that the term, Vlach, in its socio-professional acceptation, was derived
from Romanics by those Slavs who, while living by means of transhumant
shepherding and carting, also had military duties as “vojniks”. Turkologist,
Branislav Djurdjev (1963, pp. 143-149), distinguishes between Slavicized
Vlachs, in the Ottoman Empire, who were former Romanics, and Slav
Vlachs, a social category with no Romanic origins. It is generally assumed
that the disappearance of the ethnic meaning of the word, Vlach,
happened before the Fourteenth Century and that there were few cases –
only in certain regions – when it occurred at a later date.
The somewhat different positions of Yugoslav and of Bulgarian
historical writing and historiography are also evident in the way that the
former recognize the persistence, in parallel with a socio-professional
meaning, of an ethnic significance in the word, Vlach. However, they limit
this significance to regions outside the historical territory of medieval
Serbia. For instance, they perceive the medieval Vlachs as Romanians.
They also grant an ethnic significance to Vlachs from other groups than
Western Romanians who formed social strata on Yugoslav soil.
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Aromanians, for example, are recognized as ethnic Vlachs and are also
known as cincars, unlike the others. The same goes for Istro-Romanians as
well as for North-Danubian Romanians and their further ramifications in
the Serbian Banat.
It is also necessary to mention that there were and still are in Yugoslav
historical writing voices of scholars such as Ivan Božic (1983a, 1983b) who
asserts the ethnic identity of Balkan Vlachs with Romanians, but views the
Vlachs as a social category reflecting the mere survival of an organizational
form typical of an ethnic group that was later denationalized. This view is
shared by historians who, without questioning the socio-professional
evolution of the word, Vlach, in the Yugoslav region, stress that this is a
survival rather than an extension of meaning that entailed semantic
mutation, i.e., the complete Slavicization of Vlachs, to be more specific, at
a time very close to the present. This view is compatible with other
historical evidence, such as accounts written by foreign travellers in the
Balkans.
To sum up, foreign scholars during the age of humanism who did
research on Balkan Romanity reached an almost complete consensus that
Balkan Romanians represented Balkan branches of the Romanian people,
i.e., people having a Romanic (Romance) unitary language and a common
Thracian-Roman origin. Many scholars, even those in the Balkan
Peninsula, perceived the neighbouring Vlachs as Romanians who must
have come from ancient Dacia. However, in the Nineteenth Century,
mainly because of certain ideological prejudices, the ethnic character of
the Romanic origin and identity of Vlachs with the North-Danubian
Romanians was more or less skilfully questioned. The efforts to do so
involved source manipulation and tampering, as well as low level, albeit
heated, arguments and disputes. The debate focused on the word, Vlach,
as found in medieval sources in a way that denied its ethnic implications.
Only socio-professional implications were accepted.
To prove this hypothesis, only two arguments have been used: the
authority of Seventeenth Century Lucius Dalmata, who mentioned that, in
his time, Vlachs had become a synonym for shepherd, but did not forget to
specify the Romanic origin of a population predominantly channelled into
a certain profession; the second argument is a vague indication left by
Anna Comnena and taken out of its context, which seemed to authorize
the identification of nomadic shepherds with the Vlachs. Two important
points were ignored: the considerable Romanic population known as
Vlachs, living in the Peninsula and speaking Romanian language dialects,
as well as the whole mass of historical sources that attest the presence,
until very recently, of a Balkan Romanian population in a region in which
it can no longer be found today. One can also observe that in most cases,
Balkan country historians who do recognize the ethnic relevance of the
word, Vlach, do so only when designating regions in the Peninsula other
than the real or ideal territories of their respective states. The Greeks, in
the case of the Bulgarian Vlachs; the Serbs, in the case of the Bulgarian
and the Greek Vlachs; the Bulgarians, in the case of the Greek Vlachs.
BALKAN ROMANITY
115
Moreover, nobody has ventured to explain the mystery by which the term
Vlach or Vlasis was able to retain its ethnic designation, that was obviously
undisputed in all Balkan languages, for the North-Danubian Romanians.
The narrowly nationalistic vision of research on Balkan Romanity has
thus led to distortions of the objective truth. Objective truth can only be
reached by going beyond this view and by examining the semantic value of
the word, Vlach, in a general Balkan perspective. When juxtaposed,
irrespective of their origins or categories, all sources – whether diplomatic
or narrative, Eastern, Byzantine, or Western – speak with one voice and
certify the unity of the Vlach phenomenon throughout the Peninsula and
North of the Danube, i.e., the space and time of the unity of CarpathianDanubian-Balkan Romanity. The corroboration of historical with linguistic
data, as well as with the results of interdisciplinary research, only
strengthens this conclusion.
It is possible, easy, and desirable to find a way out of the deadlock
created by the narrowly nationalist perspective of research on Balkan
Romanity. This possibility is proven by the work of scholars who, living
outside the Balkan Peninsula, were not influenced by old prejudices and
political suspicions which, although historically explainable, are out of
place. Good co-operation among all scholars in Balkan and non-Balkan
countries is vital in order to carry out research on an ethnic group which,
to a great extent and according to all indications, is about to become
extinct. Drawing up a history of Balkan Romanity is not only a question of
making a contribution to the history of the Balkan people, but also one of
tracing the fate of the Roman factor in the history of the Peninsula. The
role of this factor should provide both unity in diversity and a Balkan
specificity.
B. THE “ROMANIAN PROBLEM” IN THE MIDDLE AGES – THE HISTORICAL
MEANING OF THE KINGDOM OF VLACHS AND BULGARIANS
At the end of the Twelfth and into the beginning of the Thirteenth Century,
Southeastern Europe became the theatre of fierce military and political
conflicts during which the political map of the area experienced many
sweeping changes. This period witnessed the crisis of Byzantine rule over
the Balkan Peninsula, the dissolution of imperial authority, and the
assertion of local political structures that were autonomous or even
independent in regard to the central power of the Basileus. Byzantium was
conquered and sacked in 1204 as a result of the Fourth Crusade.
Constantinople thus became the center of a new empire – the Constantinople
Latin Empire – that would last until 1261. At the same time, a number of
Catholic and Western European (Frankish) political structures were
durably established in the Balkan territories of the Byzantine Empire.
Serbia made a powerful show of its vigour under the Nemanyids,
developing as an independent state. But the most important event in
Balkan history of that time was, of course, the restoration of the Bulgarian
Czardom that had been destroyed by John Zimisces and Basil II
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Bulgaroktonos at the end of the Tenth and the beginning of the Eleventh
Centuries.
A former competitor of Byzantium, Bulgaria underwent a resurgence in
Southeastern Europe, reaching the apogée of its power and of its territorial
expansion under John Asen II (1218-1241). This Second Czardom lasted
until the Ottoman conquest.
As part of the offensive of the Catholic West toward the East, the
Hungarian Kingdom asserted not only its power, but also a clear tendency
to expand in the Balkans, particularly to subjugate the Southern Slavs.
Aroused by the resurgence of Bulgaria, which they actually helped bring
about, the Cumans dominated the military scene in Southeastern Europe
from an area North of the Danube. They threatened the whole Balkan
Peninsula with devastating incursions until the middle of the Thirteenth
Century, when their place was taken by the Tartars.
Romanians also played a part in these times of unrest. The end of the
Twelfth and the beginning of the Thirteenth Centuries witnessed the first
and the most significant political manifestation of the Romanian people
before the Romanian feudal states were established in former Dacia. What
is evoked by this statement is the series of actions that led to the
restoration of the Bulgarian Czardom. It is known that the initiators of the
insurrection that triggered the Bulgarian restoration were the leaders of a
Balkan–Vlach–Romanian community of shepherds – three brothers, Peter
and John Asen, and Ioniţă (Kaloyan) - who rose up in 1185 against
Byzantine rule because of its harsh fiscal policies and excessive
centralism.
According to the documents of the time, the Balkan state established by
the Asenids, as they are usually, albeit wrongly, named in works of
historical writing, was known as the Kingdom of Bulgarians and Vlachs or,
according to the official name given by the Pope, Regnum Bulgarorum et
Blacorum. On 8 November 1204, Ioniţă was crowned as Bulgarian and
Romanian King (rex Bulgarorum et Blacorum) by Pope Innocent III, acting
through Cardinal Leon de Santa Croce. On 7 November 1204, the same
cardinal consecrated Basil of Târnovo as Primate of the Bulgarian and
Romanian Church (primas Bulgarorum et Blacorum ecclesiae). The
Romanian and Bulgarian Kingdom was a political and ethnic reality for the
Western chroniclers of the time. The point at which this political structure
turned into a Bulgarian Czardom (the second time such a thing happened),
was relatively late, in 1241, the year of the death of John Asen II. At this
point, references to Romanians were dropped, and they vanished from the
spotlight.
Certain Bulgarian researchers, however, have not only denied the
participation of Romanians in the events preceding the restoration of the
Second Czardom, or their leading role in the anti-Byzantine insurrection
which assisted the reestablishment of the Bulgarian state, but have
questioned their very existence in the Balkan Peninsula. In opposition to a
profusion of attestations and to the mentioning of Vlachs and Romanians
in all the sources of the period, be they Byzantine, Western, or Eastern,
BALKAN ROMANITY
117
those who have opposed the idea of a Romanian contribution to the
establishment of the Second Czardom have only been able to marshal one
argument that has to be carefully considered.
According to this argument, the designations, “Vlach” and “Romanian”,
were not synonymous. “Vlach” was not an ethnic synonym for “Romanian”,
but a word with a socio-professional meaning, designating all Balkan
shepherds, regardless of ethnic origin. Thus, the Vlachs were Bulgarian
shepherds living in the North of the Balkan Peninsula, while Vlachia was
the region they inhabited in the Northern part of Bulgaria. Carrying this
argument further, the three brothers, Peter and John Asen, and Ioniţă,
were supposed to be Bulgarians, Bulgaro-Cumans, or, according to certain
scholars, even Russian Cumans living in the Northern part of the Balkan
Peninsula.
There have been very few cases in the analysis of historical evidence in
which such a richly and clearly documented reality has been so grossly
misconstrued through fallacious and/or sophistic interpretations, as in the
case of Romanian participation in the establishment of the Second
Bulgarian Czardom. Romanian and foreign researchers have proven
without doubt that, in the Byzantine and Eastern European sources of the
time, the term, Vlach, was an ethnonym, just like Bulgarian, Cuman,
Hungarian, or Greek. To read the texts is to dispel any doubts in this
regard. In fact, in all Byzantine sources (the most numerous) either
predating the Thirteenth Century or in later texts, the word Vlach has an
unquestionable ethnic meaning. Western and recently even Eastern
(Arabic) sources emphatically confirm this reality. Whether one likes it or
not, one has to accept the reality indicated by the sources: the Asenid
uprising was started by Vlachs, that is, by Romanians.
If, in this respect, things are clear and are only contested because of
inherited prejudices, ill will, or perversity, not to mention a lack of the
sense of history, the geographic origin of the Asenids is more difficult to
locate. The Southern limit of Asenid Vlachia, that Nicetas Choniates, using
an archaizing term, calls Moesia, seems clearly to be the line of the Balkan
Mountains, as attested by all contemporary sources. The description of
military operations carried out by the Byzantine forces against the Vlachs
and the Bulgarians as reflected in Byzantine sources and mainly in Nicetas
Choniates’s chronicle, as well as the description of military operations
carried out by the Latins of Baldwin of Flanders, the Constantinople
Emperor, against the Vlachs and the Cumans, as reflected in Western
sources, especially in the writings of G. de Villehardouin and Robert de
Clari, prove that beyond the range of the Balkan Mountains at the
beginning of the Thirteenth Century, lay the country of the Vlachs.
It is more difficult, however, to establish the Northern border of Asenid
rule. Did it reach across the Danube or dit it not? According to Byzantine
sources, the safest and richest of which obviously is Nicetas Choniates’s
historical work, the Cumans lived North of the Danube and had even
established their center here. Thus, one can infer from Choniates’s text
that Vlachs, i.e., Romanians, could cross the Danube as allies of the
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Cumans and thus bring support to the Asenids. Without questioning the
Romanian presence under the barbarian suzerainty of the steppe Cuman
knights, one can make do with this indication to conclude that the Asenid
Vlachs were Balkan Vlachs who came from the Balkan Mountains and
from the Moesian region lying between the Danube and the Haemus. The
same sources allow one to conclude that the Western limit of the Asenid
Vlachs was somewhere around Vidin, while their Eastern limit was the
Black Sea coast. One cannot be certain that Vlachs were also living in
Dobrudja and that the Asenids ruled over this region as well; however,
Ansbertus, the chronicler of the Third Crusade, evokes the expansion of
Asenid rule to “where the Danube flows into the sea” (Ansbertus, 1928, pp.
15-70). During the period of rule of John Asen II (1218-1241) and more
specifically, at the apogée of his power, Dobrudja was not under his rule,
as certified in the Diploma of Privilege he awarded to Ragusan merchants,
in 1231. Attempts have been made by Romanian and foreign scholars
such as Dimitre Onciul (1899, 1919-1920, 1968), Aloisiu Tăutu (1964),
and Borislav Primov (1971) to place Asenid Vlachia North of the Danube,
either in Oltenia, or in Banat and Oltenia, with a possible extension South
of the river, but none of them have been able to marshal adequate evidence
to prove such an allegation. Therefore, the historical events linked to the
Second Bulgarian Czardom mainly and overwhelmingly involved the
South-Danubian Romanians, the Balkan Vlachs, and not the NorthDanubian Romanians or the Daco-Romanians, about whose participation
there is a lack of any reliable evidence.
What was the position of the group of Asenid Romanians in the general
picture of Eastern Romanity? Here as well, scholars have come up with
different answers. They seem, however, to agree that the Asenid
Romanians were a Romanic (Romanian, to be more specific) group which
distinguished itself from the other known groups of Balkan Romanians.
Consequently, they were different from the Istro-Romanians or the
Western Balkan Romanians, from the Megleno-Romanians and also from
Aromanians or the South-Balkan Romanians. According to Tache
Papahagi (1932), they belonged to the same Romanian branch as the
Daco-Romanians, for this learned linguist considered the Haemus to be
the dividing line between Daco-Romanians and Aromanians. To other
scholars, for instance, Theodor Capidan (1943, 1925-1928), and Petre P.
Panaitescu (1969), the Asenid Romanians were the very likely ancestors of
the Megleno-Romanians, for the latter moved South at a later date. Finally,
S. Dragomir (1959) considers that the Asenid Romanians formed a unity
with the Romanians in the Northwestern Balkan Peninsula. At any rate,
scientists, linguists, and historians alike describe the Asenid Romanians
as an intermediate link among Daco-Romanians.
As for the fate of the Asenid Romanians following the reestablishment of
the Czardom after the mid-Thirteenth Century, when they disappeared
from the written sources, some historians think that they were
denationalized and assimilated by a predominant Bulgarian population
that dominated all the state and cultural traditions in the Czardom. Other
BALKAN ROMANITY
119
scholars, such as George Murnu (1984) and more recently, George
Ivănescu (1980), believe that the Asenid Romanians emigrated North of the
Danube to join the Daco-Romanians who had been living in that area for
centuries. This hypothesis, which was introduced into Romanian
historiography by G. Murnu (1984 ed.) and was only superficially studied
by his successors, lacks neither interest nor verisimilitude. Its argument
seems thorough and in concordance with the logic of events.
After Thrace had been conquered by the Byzantine forces, and grounds
for a conflict with the Second Bulgarian Czardom established, the Haemus
Romanians are thought to have been no longer able to take their flocks of
sheep to the rich Thracian pastures for the winter. Thus, they allegedly
began to migrate to the Walachian plain and ended by remaining there.
But again, this proposal is a mere hypothesis, with no specific
documentary evidence to support it.
The movement of the Asenids is expressive of the interests held by a
Romanian group in the Byzantine Empire. The sources enable the
development of a plausible explanation of the phenomenon. At the origin of
the Asenid rebellion was the abusiveness of the Byzantine taxation system,
namely an attempt to impose special taxes on Balkan Romanian
shepherds. According to Choniates, the need for these taxes was triggered
by the huge expenses incurred for the wedding of Emperor Isaac II Angelus
with the daughter of the Hungarian King, Bela IV. A better explanation,
however, is to be found in the heavy military expenses of an Empire forced
to fend off the Normans. Viewed from this angle, the Asenid uprising falls
into a tradition linked to a constant of the relationships between the
Vlachs and the Byzantine authorities.
The Romanians had always attempted to oppose the fiscal demands of
the Empire. In 1066, in an act of solidarity with the Bulgarians and the
Greeks in the region, Romanians in the Thessalian city of Larissa rose up
against the fiscal abuses of Constantinople. The resulting rebellion, a very
serious one, ended up being led, albeit unwillingly, by the archon
(governor) and strategos (general) Niculitsa, Governor of Hellas, who had
actually been ordered to crush it. In 1094, Vlach shepherds in the region
of Moglena, seemingly instigated by the Cumans, refused to pay any
money to the Lavra Athonite Monastery to which Emperor Alexius I
Comnenus had farmed out the collection of taxes in the area. A source
dating back to the end of the Thirteenth Century speaks of bloodshed
during a conflict between the Vlachs in the Boleron Theme and imperial
revenue agents (Maximos Planudes, in, N.-Ş. Tanaşoca, 1974). According
to Georgios Pachymeris, large numbers of well-off Thracian Vlachs in the
Fourteenth Century who owned fine houses and many sheep were
dispossessed by the Emperor and forcibly moved to Asia Minor in a
massive colonization effort motivated by fear of an impending Tartar
invasion and anticipation that the Romanians would side with the
invaders.
The anti-Byzantine response of the Romanians was not simply a
question of a typical conflict arising in opposition to the imperial fiscal
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N.-Ş. TANAŞOCA
system. In order to understand the problem, it is necessary to understand
the status of the Romanians inside the Byzantine Empire. By the very
nature of their principal occupation, namely the transhumant herding of
sheep, the Vlachs usually lived in the mountains and were considerably
more mobile than the rest of the population as a direct consequence of
their principal economic activity. Their freedom was accompanied by
certain privileges granted by the imperial power, which are now coming to
be better known thanks to sources derived from the Serbian and the
Ottoman chancelleries (N.-Ş. Tanaşoca and A. Tanaşoca, 1989) that prove
the existence of a number of very old Byzantine practices.
Because of the degree of autonomy of the Vlachs, Benjamin of Tudela,
writing in the Twelfth Century, called them “abasileutoi”, i.e., persons who
were not the Emperor’s subjects. Vlachs were recognized as members of
patriarchal communities of shepherds with their own local governments
and administrations, as well as, within certain limits, their own
jurisdictional powers. Their chieftains had managed to distinguish
themselves – through their wealth and power – from the rest of the
community and had created a type of aristocracy. Since the Vlachs were
permitted to graze their sheep on state pastures, they were required to pay
certain taxes directly to the Emperor, but were exempt from other fiscal
obligations toward the Byzantine state. Similar practices could be found in
Serbia and in the Ottoman Empire involving, not only implied specific
taxes of the kind studied by Germaine Rouillard (1933), but also military
obligations in regard to the state. More precisely, the Vlachs were expected
to guard the mountains to which access was difficult. They were reputed
for their military skills, which was why they frequently joined the
Byzantine army and were thought to be extremely reliable. To them,
serving as soldiers was not only a duty in regard to the Empire, but also a
clear sign of privileged status.
Sources refer to large numbers of Vlachs having joined the Byzantine
Army. In 979, Emperor Basil II appointed Niculitsa “Commander (Archon)
of the Hellas Vlachs” (Kekaumenos), a title suggesting that his command
was actually a military one. At the beginning of the Eleventh Century,
Vlachs were mentioned in the Bari Annals as soldiers and warriors in the
troops of Emperor Constantine VIII, in Sicily. In 1166, during his
campaigns against Hungary, Manuel I Comnenus made use of the Vlachs
incorporated in General Leon Vatatzes’s army (Ioannes Cinnamus, in, A.
Meineke, ed., 1836). They had been recruited from the very region in which
the Asenid uprising would burst twenty years later. It was a Vlach leader
who informed Emperor Alexius I Comnenus that the Cumans had crossed
the Danube. The same Emperor conscripted a large number of Vlachs
(most of whom were shepherds) on the eve of the Battle of Lebounion
against the Petchenegs, at the end of the Eleventh Century (in, Comnène,
Alexiade).
Returning to the Asenids and to what occurred in 1185 in the Balkans,
one discovers from reading Nicetas Choniates that Peter and John Asen
and their Vlach entourage evoked the fiscal demands made by Emperor
BALKAN ROMANITY
121
Isaac II Angelus as a sort of “Patroclus’s pretext” to rebel against Byzantine
authority. They claimed a degree of autonomy and hoped to join the
Byzantine forces in their struggle against the Normans. But such an
alliance required the recognition of the Vlach fiscal and administrative
privileges in regard to the Empire along with their military duties, all being
part and parcel of their traditionally privileged status. Despite being at war
with the Normans, Isaac II rejected the Vlach position and attitude as
insolent. The Emperor’s lack of wisdom facilitated the spread of the
uprising, even though some of the decision-makers at Court, including
Nicetas Choniates, later the Governor of Philippopolis, thought that the
requests of the Vlachs should have received a favourable response. Thus
one can conclude that the dissatisfaction of the Asenids and their rebellion
against Byzantine authority were consistent with the traditional interests
of the Balkan Romanians. It can therefore be explained as the response to
an attempt on the part of the imperial power to jeopardize their interests.
Although the Comnenoi had recognized the privileged status of the
Vlachs, the resulting understanding was violated by Emperor Isaac II
Angelus representing a governing structure the actions of which were more
rigorously centralized and the fiscal policy of which proved to be harsh and
burdensome to a great extent as the result of its egalitarian approach.
Was Asenid Vlachia a political reality? Except for D. Onciul (1899,
1919-1920), who wrongly placed it North of the Danube, most researchers
have either not come up with a clear answer to this question or have given
no answer at all. To repeat some opinions that were expressed in previous
studies (N.-Ş. Tanaşoca, 1981; N.-Ş. Tanaşoca and A. Tanaşoca, 1994), it
can be said that, at the end of the Twelfth Century, Asenid Vlachia was a
political reality. It was one of those areas of Vlach autonomy mentioned in
the Byzantine sources of the time and referred to in various Balkan regions
of the Empire. Thus, it is known that, as early as the end of the Tenth
Century, the Byzantine province of Hellas, was a Vlach “mark” or
“captainship”, as Grigore Ureche called it. Its ruler was Niculitsa, a high
Byzantine official, an archon of Greek or – according to G. Murnu (1939) –
Romanian origin. Another place called Vlachia, a so-called toparchy, is
identified by Nicetas Choniates in the same Thessalian region, at the
beginning of the Thirteenth Century. It developed autonomously in relation
both to Byzantium and the Latin Empire and was finally conquered by the
Epirote state. It is not difficult to see in this new “toparchy” an updated
form of the old Vlach “mark” mentioned by Kekaumenos. Thessalian
Vlachia later became the so-called Greater Vlachia, a genuine principality
enjoying a relative degree of autonomy within the Byzantine Empire.
Other examples of Balkan Vlachias that can be identified from the
sources are the Rodope Vlachia, the ruler of which was Dobromir Chrysos,
an ally and friend of the Asenids, as well as Little Vlachia and Upper
Vlachia, mentioned by the Byzantine chroniclers of the conquest of
Constantinople by the Ottoman Turks. These entities are described as fully
submitted regions that had actually surrendered to conquest. Western
sources have confirmed the evolution of these Vlachias toward
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N.-Ş. TANAŞOCA
autonomous
organization.
Feudal
principalities
developed,
the
establishment of which was obviously facilitated through the grant of a
truly autonomous organization according to a vision and a practice that
were brought to the Balkans by Western, Latin, conquerors. The
distinction made in Ioniţă’s title, as granted by Pope Innocent III, tends to
support the idea of a Western outlook. The distinction that it makes
between Vlachia and Bulgaria as separate territorial and political realities
further attests the advance, from the political point of view, of the Balkan
Romanian shepherd communities toward autonomous organization. This
period was one of political maturation for the Romanian communities of
the Balkan Peninsula.
The evolution of the South Danubian forms of independent political life
has to be linked to the general evolution of all Romanian communities,
both North and South of the Danube, in this same direction. Just as in the
case of the North Danubian political structures led by knezes and
voivodes, the Southern Asenid Vlachs, like the other Balkan Vlachs,
tended to evolve in the direction of independent political life. From this
point of view, the Asenid movement is illustrative of a pan-Romanian
tendency, an inner trend of the Romanian world throughout Southeastern
Europe. The appearance of the Asenid state is the first manifestation of
this pan-Romanian tendency, mentioned in historic documents, to develop
an independent political life.
There is reason to believe that, at the start of the Asenid movement, the
minimal political objectives of the two brothers, Peter and John Asen, were
the possibility of organizing an autonomous political life for a significant
group of Romanians living in the Northern parts of the Balkan Peninsula,
in peaceful association with Byzantium. According to Choniates’s
description of the events and to the way in which the Asenid state is
presented in the works of the French chroniclers of the Fourth Crusade
and even in the narration of Frederick Barbarossa’s chroniclers
(Ansbertus, Magnus Presbyter, etc.), the Asenids did not move South of the
line of the Balkans, considering it to be the border of their Vlachia and
defending it as such. The rulers were viewed as Kings of Vlachia rather
than as Bulgarian czars. The fact that they raided South of the mountain
border in joint operations with the Cumans had only a strategic value and
did not prove any expansionist tendencies. Not only Peter and John Asen,
but even their brother, Ioniţă, who was crowned by the Pope as “King of
the Romanians and Bulgarians”, were perceived in the Western mind as
Vlach princes of a Romanian state. It was only the fierce opposition of the
Court of Emperor Isaac II Angelus to any recognition of the “toparchy” of
Peter and John Asen in Moesia that encouraged a tendency for the scope
of the uprising to spread and to hasten the separation from the Empire,
thus laying the basis for the restoration of the Bulgarian Czardom.
According to Byzantine sources and mainly to the rhetorical literature
produced during the Angelus Dynasty, there were two trends of opinion
among the Vlach rulers. The first of these, represented by Peter Asen,
favoured retention of autonomy, once it was acquired. The second,
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illustrated by John Asen, was to be tempted by the imperial chimera
himself.
Here it is necessary to stress that the latter tendency prevailed, first
because the imperial court rejected the minimal Vlach claims and only
then because the Bulgarian imperial ideology and the Cuman allies
favoured conquest and plunder. Thus, the Byzantine mentality pervading
the lives of the South-Danubian Vlachs and the decision of the latter to
associate themselves with the Bulgarians, who had their own state,
ecclesiastic, and cultural traditions, and then to make common cause with
the Cumans are the reasons for the evolutionary split between Asenid
Vlachia and the North-Danubian Vlachs and the eventual extinction of the
former and their assimilation into the Bulgarian population, during the
Second Bulgarian Czardom.
There was little room, if any, in the Byzantine political tradition, for
genuine political autonomy. From its inception, the Byzantine absolutist
vision of political power prevented the existence of autonomous centers of
power that were strictly delimited from a territorial and ethnic perspective.
Similarly, this vision prevented the emergence of a legal opposition,
however much limited to certain domains of life. Opposition could only
take the form of an imperial competition with the central power, the
opponents being forced to proclaim themselves Emperors in order to
legitimize their quest for autonomy. They either replaced the incumbent
Emperor, or they perished.
At the political and state level, the major sign of independence was the
co-existence of an Emperor and a Patriarch. According to the Byzantine
vision, the Emperor could not exist without the Patriarch, as the Church
was closely linked to the state. When Niculitsa assumed the leadership of
the Larissa uprising, he was cheered by the rebels with phrases intended
for the Emperor. He was viewed as a prospective emperor, one very keen
on establishing at least a local empire. As others before him, and because
he did not seek the Constantinople throne, Niculitsa could reach an
agreement, a compromise, with the central authority.
Indeed, this period was characterized by strong centrifugal tendencies
within the Byzantine world. When, later on, the Asenid movement began
as a Romanian manifestation of this tendency, it ended up as a typical
Bulgarian-Romanian manifestation. The same can be said of the Greek
archons who, detaching themselves from Constantinople, aimed to
establish small empires: the Salonika Empire, created by the Epirus
Despots, the Trebizond Empire, that would last for some time, and the
Nicaea Empire, which would assist the resurrection of Byzantium and the
return of its capital to Constantinople. As demonstrated by Nikolaos
Oikonomides (1976), all these political structures arose from rebellion and
local secessionist movements directed against Constantinople.
In 1185, when the Balkan Vlach ruler, Peter Asen, decided in favour of
red footwear and a tiara, he implicitly proclaimed a local empire. The
imperial streak characterizing the Asenids, the result of the Byzantine
political mentality in which they had been nurtured, explains incessant
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N.-Ş. TANAŞOCA
claims and demands made to Westerners, by the dynasty and the family,
including Peter and Ioniţă, that their imperial title be recognized and that
their state be granted the right to have a patriarch and a patriarchate. This
attitude is not one of “imperialism”, but rather an expression of the need to
secure independence by the choice of political forms typical of the world in
which they lived. The first Asenids wanted to be basileis, not necessarily in
order to replace the Basileus in Constantinople, but to make sure that
their independence from him was warranted and, if possible, approved by
him.
A difficulty arose, however, because the only form of basileia or empire
that Byzantium had been forced to recognize for centuries past was the
Bulgarian Czardom. The Czardom, led by Boris-Mihail, Simeon, and
Samuel, had been recognized by the Empire and had had a patriarchate of
its own. A Bulgarian imperial ideology existed as a faithful copy of the
Byzantine ideology. There had been a Bulgarian state and an ecclesiastic
tradition that could not be erased from Balkan consciousness by the
destruction of the Bulgarian Czardom at the hands of John Zimisces and
Basil II Bulgaroktonos. Resorting to Bulgarian help, the Asenids
resuscitated this imperial tradition that conferred legitimacy, an historical
precedent, and the memory of a better status both for Romanians and for
Bulgarians. Joining hands with the Bulgarians, the Romanians not only
had an ally in terms of military and human resources, but also – more
importantly – an ideology and the moral and political support of a spiritual
doctrine and tradition. What led the Romanians to restore the Second
Czardom was not a “Bulgarian” national sentiment, but the need to
legitimize their own aspirations to independence and to give a larger scope
to their movement in opposition to the lack of understanding of the
Byzantine authorities. At the same time, however, by this resuscitation of
the ghost of Samuel’s state, the Asenids, according to Nicetas Choniates’s
texts, wished to stress that “God [had] decided to give freedom [to the]
Bulgarians and Romanians”, with a clear distinction made between the
two ethnic groups, and that their action envisaged “the union of the two
rules, Vlach and Bulgarian, into a single one, as it used to be”.
The Asenids were thus sufficiently scrupulous to envisage a somewhat
federal state (to have recourse to modern terminology) for Romanians and
Bulgarians alike, even if they derived its prototype – rightly or wrongly –
from the past. In other words, the Asenids were careful to secure the
autonomy of their own Vlachia. It should nevertheless be made clear that
the result would have been very different if the Asenid uprising had been
nothing more than the expression of Bulgarian aspirations to acquire
national freedom and to restore their own imperially derived Bulgarian
state.
The maximal political agenda of the Asenids aimed, therefore, at a
restoration of the Bulgarian Czardom in such conditions as to warrant the
carrying out of their minimal political agenda, i.e., the autonomy of
Vlachia. In this way, the Asenid state ideology expressed the converging
interests of the Romanians and of the Bulgarians. Although this ideology
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125
was a repetition and resuscitation of the ideology of the First Czardom, it
also reflected a new specific edifice, whereby an original Romanian corpus
of political thinking and a spiritual tradition made themselves felt.
This ideology, that was, at the same time, a theoretical support and a
means of legitimization for the new state, evolved over the years and
eventually adopted the classic ideological pattern of the first Bulgarian
Czardom that had inspired it. This evolution was influenced by the inner
changes characterizing the state and by the new international context in
which it took place. The increasing numbers of Bulgarians who lived in the
new state, the ending of the union with Rome, and the re-Byzantinization
of the Vlach and Bulgarian Church were factors that changed not only the
ideology of the state, but its political substance as well.
It should come as no surprise that the Asenid brothers wished to
restore the Bulgarian Czardom, in spite of their Romanian origins. Even
after the first Bulgarian Czardom had been done away with, in 1018, by
Emperor Basil II Bulgaroktonos, and the Northern, border of the Byzantine
Empire, brought back to the Danube, the Bulgarian imperial idea
continued to be a watchword of rebellion, capable of bringing together not
only Bulgarians, but many other Balkan inhabitants who were unhappy
with the vicissitudes of perceived Byzantine oppression. Interestingly
enough, there were cases when a foreigner, not a Bulgarian, would raise
the flag and attempt to restore the Czardom.
The first anti-Byzantine movement which began as an evocation of the
Bulgarian idea was that of Peter Deljan (1040-1041). Its outburst was
primarily the result of the high level of taxation by the Byzantine
authorities when John the Orphanotrophe, the Minister of Emperor
Michael IV Paphlagonian, decided to change the orders left by Emperor
Basil II (which were tolerant toward the Bulgarians) and to demand that
the tribute to Byzantium no longer be paid in money, but in kind. At the
same time, the 1037 replacement of the Slavic Ohrid Metropolitan Bishop
by a Greek bishop, named Leo, bred further discontent, for this act
represented a new violation of the status granted to Bulgarians by Basil II.
Peter Deljan claimed descent from Czar Samuel, as the son of his
successor, Gabriel Radomir. He proclaimed himself Czar in 1040, in
Belgrade. Although at the start of this uprising, Alousianos, the son of
John Vladislav, the last Bulgarian Czar, supported Deljan, he later turned
against Deljan, captured and blinded him, and surrendered him to the
Byzantine authorities. Alousianos had escaped from Constantinople where
he had been living as a high ranking hostage and had joined Deljan before
betraying him.
Peter Deljan’s uprising gives proof of the Bulgarian commitment to the
old dynasty, while suggesting the latent power of the Bulgarian state
ideology as a support to Balkan (not necessarily Bulgarian) rebellion
against Byzantium.
Another important uprising took place in 1073. It was led by a
Bulgarian, George Voitech. It was particularly supported by the Serbs.
Constantine Bodin (Peter), the son of Prince Mikhail of Zeta, proclaimed
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N.-Ş. TANAŞOCA
himself Czar in Prizren and took the imperial name of Peter. This uprising
was linked to the efforts of the Serbs to free themselves from Byzantine
tutelage. It reflected the role that the ideology of the Bulgarian Czardom
could play in bringing together Balkan ethnic groups. Almost at the same
time, Demetrius Zvonimir was recognized by Pope Gregory VII as King of
Croatia, while Mikhail, Bodin’s father had received Zeta’s crown from the
same pontifical hands (1076-1077). This appeal to the ideology of czardom
was a characteristic of Balkan uprisings meant to confer legitimacy to
such movements. At the same time, the government in the old Bulgarian
Czardom had been less centralist and oppressive than that of Byzantium.
On the other hand, it is necessary to observe that, as R. L. Wolff (1949)
points out, the capacity of the Bulgarian political initiative had severely
decreased prior to the Asenid uprising. An important factor in this
direction was the partial Hellenization of that segment of the Bulgarian
aristocracy that had survived the collapse of Samuel‘s state and the
existence of which artfully blended in with the general interests of the
Byzantine Empire. In its turn, the Bulgarian Church gradually passed into
the hands of Greek or Hellenized clergy. This situation caused such a
reputed historian as Vasil Zlatarski (1933, 1934, 1940) to define the period
before 1185 as an age of Hellenization in Bulgarian medieval history.
At this point, it is appropriate to mention that no Bulgarian rebellions
appear to have occurred under the Comneni, and that the Eleventh
Century movements (except for those already mentioned, evoking
Bulgarian imperial aspirations) took place as the result of other
inspirations – mainly heretical religious ideas – and were not led by
Bulgarians. As an example, the Paristrium cities rebelled for tax-related
reasons between 1072 and 1080. Although the vestarch, Nestor, very likely
a Serb, was sent to crush the rebellion, he ended up leading it. Even if this
rebellion sprang from local discontent with the administration, the
rebellion of the Paristrium cities had nothing to do with the Bulgarian
imperial idea, in spite of the obvious participation of a number of
Bulgarians living in the area. The Philippopolis Paulicians, led by Traulos,
in the North of the Balkan Peninsula, decided to make common cause with
the Petcheneg rule on the North side of the Danube because the rebels
chose to side with these “Scythian barbarians”. Another uprising in the
same period (1070-1080) brought together Philippopolis Greeks and
Bulgarians led by the Greek, Lekas, with the same Petcheneg support and
in the name of the same Paulician heresy that was directed against
Constantinople. Simultaneously, and to some extent in concordance with
Lekas’s rebels, the Bulgarian, Dobromir, rebelled in Mesembria against the
authority of the Byzantine state and church.
None of these rebellions, however, were of any help in the reassertion of
the Bulgarian imperial idea. Their single result was that they favoured the
expansion of the Petchenegs, by weakening the Byzantine state and the
unity of the Orthodox Church. Finally, the 1066 Larissa movement, started
by Greeks, Bulgarians, and Vlachs, and eventually led by its alleged
suppressor, Niculitsa, was yet another case of a rebellion that did not
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127
strive to proclaim the restoration of the second Bulgarian Czardom, even
though certain researchers have claimed the contrary, despite the lack of
adequate documentary evidence. The Vlachs appear to have played the
main part in this rebellion, as they were the key target of chronicler
Kekaumenos‘s conformist indignation. However, the Larissa rebels had
had certain direct links with the Bulgarian Czar Samuel, to whom
Niculitsa, the father of the Archon and Strategos of the same name, had
surrendered the Serbian fortress. It is therefore possible to conclude that
Bulgarians took part in rebellions led by other Balkan malcontents,
without necessarily aiming to restore their Czardom.
While the Bulgarian initiative in anti-Byzantine actions decreased in the
Thirteenth Century, Vlach initiatives increased considerably. After the
collapse of Samuel’s state, Romanians started to be seen in the light of
history and of Byzantine political expectations. The latter took good care to
distinguish them from the Bulgarians by means of a suitable policy. Thus,
from the very beginning and immediately after he had re-conquered
Macedonia, Basil II recognized the Bulgarian Church and established a
separate diocese for “the Vlachs all over Bulgaria”, the Episcopal seat of
which was Vranje. The obvious purpose of this step was to undo the likely
union of the Vlachs and the Bulgarians, to separate Romanians from the
Slavo-Bulgarian Church, and to encourage their independent assertion in
regard to the Bulgarians. The same could be said about the way in which
the Vlachs in the Hellas Theme, previously occupied by the Bulgarians,
organized themselves into an autonomous “captainship”.
This study has previously referred to a number of events in which
Vlachs took part as soldiers supporting the Byzantine military and political
forces. When speaking of the Byzantine policy of dissociating the Vlachs
from the Bulgarians, which must have been implemented over a fairly long
period, it is also necessary to recall that Samuel’s brother, David, was
killed by Vlachs near Castoria and Prespa. Very likely, the Vlachs in
question acted on orders from Constantinople, the Byzantine authorities
feeling that the establishment of a Bulgarian state would block the trade
route between the Adriatic and the Aegean and thus set back Byzantine
interests.
Twelfth Century Romanians, therefore, had the power and the capacity
to lead an anti-Byzantine movement, as proved by the Larissa rebellion in
1066. Privileged under the Comneni, when provoked by the Angeli, they
turned into rebellious elements from the political and military point of
view. But did they have any grounds for making common cause with the
Bulgarians? Were they able to give a new life to the Balkans as well? The
answer is yes. As Goerge Murnu (1984) points out, the RomanianBulgarian solidarity was as old as the beginnings of the first Bulgarian
state. The very birth of the Romanian people was determined by the
breakaway of the Latin-speaking Roman citizens of Southeastern Europe
from the body of an empire which accordingly became Greek. The name,
Vlach, ascribed to Romanians in medieval sources, proves, on the one
hand, that they preserved their Romanic individuality, and on the other
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N.-Ş. TANAŞOCA
hand, that they joined the Slavs, particularly the Bulgarians, to such a
great extent that they returned to the boundaries and went under the
authority of the Empire. The latter, no longer wanting to recognize them,
now perceived them as being a barbarian race.
The alienation of the Romanians from the Byzantine Empire and their
“barbarization” became a reality that was only strengthened by their
affiliation with the Slavo-Bulgarian cultural area and the way in which
they adopted a degree of “cultural Slavism”. Like G. Murnu, the author of
this study believes that a certain looseness in the political régime of the
first Bulgarian state, a less oppressive centralism than that of the
Byzantine Empire, and a certain tolerance facilitated Romanian solidarity
with the Bulgarians. The memory of a common past, a set of shared
interests in a confrontation with the Twelfth Century Byzantine taxation
system, and some common traditions of anti-Byzantine resistance, such as
the aforementioned 1066 Larissa rebellion, undoubtedly brought
Romanians close to Bulgarians. This situation explains not only their
alliance against Constantinople, but also their wish to restore the old
Bulgarian Czardom, this time through the action of a Vlach aristocratic
family.
After failing in their attempt to receive recognition from the Byzantine
rulers, the Vlachs looked for Western support in their bid for freedom.
They first approached Frederick Barbarossa and asked for recognition of
their Empire in exchange for specific assistance to him against Byzantium.
The Emperor turned down this offer, not wishing to start a conflict with
Byzantium. He was trying to remain at peace, in spite of all the vexations
to which he was being subjected. Nevertheless, Vlach military assistance
was important to the participants in the Third Crusade in the
consequence-free conflict that opposed the latter to Byzantium at a certain
point. For the Western chronicler, Magnus Presbyter, the perception that
“the Vlachs are on our side” was proof of a guarantee of military power.
Later, they turned to Rome and to Pope Innocent III, who helped them – as
is well known – to obtain recognition for their state and to integrate it into
the political world order.
Rome and the powerful Innocent III intended to set the Balkan balance
into an easily controllable structure. The establishment of the RomanianBulgarian kingdom was one of the factors included in this new balance
formula favoured by the Papacy. What Innocent III wanted was not only to
convert the Romanians and Bulgarians to Catholicism and to achieve a
religious union with Rome, but also to consolidate the Western political
front through the crowning of Ioniţă, an act obviously implying the
creation of a Catholic kingdom directly dependent on the pontifical seat. In
this way, the Asenid political structure would no longer be controlled by
Byzantium, but would fall into the orbit of the Latin Empire, which was on
the verge of replacing the Byzantine Empire, and of a Hungary, the
expansionist tendencies of which were pushing it to claim suzerainty over
the Balkan Peninsula including the Bulgarian and finally the Serbian
Kingdoms.
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Because Pope Innocent III wished to preserve the Byzantine Empire and
to unite the Byzantine Orthodox and the Catholic Churches, he spared the
Byzantine state up to the point when, because of the Venice-inspired antiByzantine deviation of the Fourth Crusade, the Latin conquest made
possible the existence of a new, Latin, Empire. Only after the fall of
Constantinople, in 1204, did Innocent III agree to recognize the BulgaroVlach state, disregarding its wish to acquire imperial status and to reach a
compromise on ideological grounds. Thus papal recognition was granted to
a state which thought of itself as an empire.
For the Pope, the Asenid state was a reliable instrument meant to deter
the imperialist aspirations of the Constantinople Latin Empire. For this
reason, during the 1205 conflict between the Latins and the Asenids,
Innocent III sided with the latter, even though he took care to remind them
that any attempt to restore the Bulgarian Empire at the expense of the
Latin Empire would be severely repressed. On the other hand, as he had
recognized the Nemanyid kingdom, he similarly opposed any tendency of
the Asenid state to incorporate Serbia. Finally, Innocent III firmly and even
harshly repressed the imperialist temptation of the Hungarian kingdom
which, in the name of some illusory rights, tried to turn the Asenid state
into a vassal of its own, even going as far as to confront the pontifical
power and to arrest its envoy, the cardinal, who would crown Ioniţă.
Papal policy proved to be efficient. During the rule of Boril (1207-1218),
Ioniţă’s successor, the Romanian-Bulgarian Kingdom kept to its limits as
established by the Papacy, contributed to the eradication of Bogomilism,
and fell into step with the offensive of Rome against dualist heresies,
refraining from any kind of conflict with the Latin Empire and Hungary
and from providing any support to the Cumans, who were threatening not
only the Balkan Peninsula, but Western Europe as well. It was only when
John Asen II (1218-1241), Boril’s successor, definitively severed all links
with the Roman Church that the Papacy allowed the Hungarian kingdom
to combat it and to bring it back under the control of Rome. But even then,
all the attempts the old Czar made in order to get closer to the Catholic
Church, once again, were firmly discouraged.
The support of Rome meant a great deal to the Romanians. It is clear
that their place in the new state, the Romanian-Bulgarian Kingdom, was
only recognized as long as they preserved their unity with the Roman
church. The formula of ethno-political dualism, which was officially
sanctioned by Rome, was meant to support and preserve Romanian
Romanity within a Bulgaro-Slav traditional state. It was not a mere
coincidence that Rome constantly encouraged the assertion of Romanian
Romanity, as proven by the correspondence between Ioniţă and Innocent
III. For the first time in history, the Romanity of Romanians, their Roman
origins, became a critical hallmark, a political idea, as well as a diplomatic
tool. This idea, that was an important element at the origins of the Second
Czardom, not only represented an original Romanian contribution in terms
of a new synthesis of the ideology of the first Bulgarian state and the
Romanian sense of Romanity, but was also viewed as having arisen as a
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N.-Ş. TANAŞOCA
result of the contact of Romanians with Rome. Its immediate effect was a
reawakening of consciousness related to the national, Romanic, and
European identity of the Vlachs. The return of John Asen II to Byzantine
Orthodoxy quickly resulted in a return to the Bulgarian imperialism of the
First Czardom and to Slavism. Moreover, it determined the abandonment
of the perception of the value of Romanity and implicitly undermined the
grounds for the preservation of Romanian nationality within the reborn
Bulgarian Czardom.
It can, however, be shown that one of Ioniţă’s arguments in favour of
the legitimization of his claim to rule over the Bulgarian Czardom was his
descent from former Czars, Peter and Samuel. Yet, the first thing that
should be noticed regarding his letters to the Pope is that he cited these
rulers as his predecessors, rather than as his ancestors. Secondly, even
admitting that Ioniţă had claimed descent from the Bulgarian imperial
family, doing so was a common practice for the time. As already indicated,
both Deljan and Bodin did exactly the same thing for purposes of
legitimacy. Third, one should notice, as Gheorghe I. Brătianu (1945) did,
that the Asenid appeal to allegedly Bulgarian imperial origins sprang from
the common efforts of themselves and of the Papacy to counter Hungarian
claims to suzerainty over Bulgaria.
Historians have considered the claim that Pope Nicholas I crowned
some former Bulgarian czars simply in order to bring justification and
legitimacy to the new political structure in the Balkan Peninsula, to be
doubtful. One can correctly assume that this dynastic legend was
fabricated in Rome rather than in Târnovo. How could Ioniţă have found
old books “proving” his royal descent in the archives of the former Czar,
two centuries after the First Czardom had been destroyed by the Byzantine
forces? Nevertheless, the appeal to this Bulgarian origin that was not
necessarily unlikely and perhaps occurred along the maternal line,
according to Nicolae Iorga (1919, 1937), as well as the mentioning of the
links between the old kingdom and Rome, which had been unquestionably
real, acted as elements of Bulgarian tradition in the ideology of the second
Bulgarian Czardom.
What was the role and the meaning of Romanian-Cuman collaboration
during that period? Obviously, without Cuman support, the RomanianBulgarian state could not have asserted itself in the international arena.
Suffice it to go over both Byzantine and Western chronicles to realize the
critical importance of the alliance with this powerful force of steppe knights
for Romanians and Bulgarians alike. The Cuman cavalry terrified the
Byzantines and the Latins, and the Cumans acted as a shock weapon for
the Romanian-Bulgarian state. By inviting the Cumans to cross the
Danube, the Asenids posed a serious problem not only to Byzantium, but
also to Europe itself. They opened the borders of the civilized world to the
devastating charges of these Eurasian steppe knights, thus paving the way
for the last great extra-European invasion before that of the Tartars.
It is obvious that this collaboration between Balkan Romanians and the
Cumans was nothing more than a South-Danubian ramification of an even
BALKAN ROMANITY
131
older Cumano-Romanian “symbiosis” that had been the main feature of
North-Danubian Romanian life in the Twelfth and the Thirteenth
Centuries. Under Cuman “protection”, the same Romanian pattern of
existence began to manifest itself South as well as North of the Danube.
Even the Turkic names of the Asenids, as well as the name of the
Romanian Bassarab Dynasty, proved the existence of a Romanian-Cuman
“symbiosis”, also attested in other forms that are more obvious and
explicit. We know, for instance, that the Asenids had come close to the
Cuman chieftains through marital links. These acted as guarantees for a
brotherhood of arms in which each party had different goals. Both for the
South-Danubian as well as for the North-Danubian Romanians, the
Cuman element decidedly represented a burden, as well as an element of
“barbarization” and of historical involution. Byzantine chronicles provide a
sufficiently clear account of the ways in which the Cumans interfered in
the domestic affairs of the restored Czardom. Always eager to plunder
either Byzantine or Latin lands, the Cumans pushed for an aggressive and
offensive policy which often enough exceeded Romanian and Bulgarian
intentions. It was they who stimulated the “imperialist” trend in the Asenid
state policy.
There are indications that a pro-Cuman party existed in Târnovo. In as
far as two of the three brothers were concerned, Peter Asen seems to have
represented the pro-Byzantine and moderate trend, while John Asen chose
the pro-Cuman direction. It matched his temperament that was prone to
excesses. As for Ioniţă, his death during the siege of Salonika actually
seems to have been an execution, a punishment carried out by the proCuman party in response to his attempt to reestablish peace. It was no
coincidence that, of all Ioniţă’s successors, it was John Asen II, the
spokesman of Bulgaro-Byzantine imperialism, who came back from exile
among the Cumans to seize the throne with Cuman support.
After John Asen II had returned to Orthodoxy and as he promoted the
ideology of the old Bulgarian Czardom in its extreme form, causing him to
claim Byzantium itself, the Bulgar-Vlach King took the title of “Czar of the
Bulgarians and the Greeks”. In his own new spirit, John Asen II rewrote
the very history of the beginnings of the Asenid movement and of his state.
As a son of Niculitsa, he attempted to exaggerate the contribution of the
latter and to turn him into the initiator of the 1185 insurrection, while
diminishing Peter Asen’s role, even though written sources clearly indicate
that Peter was the first Asenid czar. According to John Asen II, whose
name is also linked to the development of a Slavic intellectual life in the
Second Czardom, it was John Asen, and not Peter Asen, who founded the
state and started the rebellion against the Greeks. In the same spirit, any
mention of a union with Rome disappeared, as later happened to any hint
of Romanian Romanity, of Vlachs, and finally of Romanians as such.
The Second Czardom definitely overlapped symbolically with the First, a
view of the events stressed in Bulgarian historical writing, because it
became a true historiographic dogma in medieval chronicles and was also
eventually adopted by Byzantine writers, while Western historical writing
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N.-Ş. TANAŞOCA
preserved, in a variety of forms, the memory of the Romanians who took
part in the founding of a state that the Papacy called the Kingdom of
Romanians and Bulgarians. Thus, Orthodoxy and Byzantinism, which for
the North-Danubian Romanians were support factors for their medieval
states, were perceived in an opposite way by the South-Danubian
Romanians. To the latter, both Orthodoxy and Byzantinism diminished
them through the power of Bulgarization that they entailed. While North of
the Danube, Catholicism became the spiritual weapon by which the
Hungarian state tried to remove Transylvanian Romanians from political
life and to subdue those who lived outside the Carpathian arc, South of
the Danube, Catholicism supported, as much as it could, both Romanian
nationality and state independence.
But to what extent did the Second Czardom play a part in the historical
life of the North-Danubian Romanians, i.e., of the Daco-Romanians? It was
not simply the confusion of past scholars, such as Dimitrie Cantemir, that
led to the crystallization of a historical legend according to which Asenid
Vlachia was the future Walachia or even Moldavia, for an analogous
Bulgarian legend appeared during the same Eighteenth Century in Paisij
Hilandarski’s works. Modern historians like Dimitre Onciul (1899, 19191920, 1968) thought that the Second Czardom exerted its rule North of the
Danube. Here was where Vlachia supposedly lay. Following the Tartar
invasion, Bulgaria found itself South of the Danube, while Vlachia, out of
which Walachia would surge at a later date, lay North of the Danube and
was, at least nominally, subjugated by the Hungarians.
According to this theory, the dualist Romanian-Bulgarian state that the
Papacy consecrated as a kingdom was consequently dismembered, even
though its memory was preserved through the Slavo-Byzantine institutions
of the North-Danubian Romanian lands. Therefore, the Second Czardom
was at the origin of modern Romanian civilization and cultural Slavism
and as well as of a Romanian Byzantinism characterized by a Slavonizing
tendency. Equally strenuous research by other historians led by Bogdan
Petriceicu Hasdeu (1878, 1898, 1976) has clearly proven the lack of
supporting evidence for this alluring hypothesis.
It is hardly possible to speak of any attempt to extend Asenid authority
North of the Danube, for only one document hinting at such a possibility
exists, a pontifical letter to the Hungarian king according to which Ioniţă
tried to assume authority over the Greco-Christians in Hungary. N. Iorga
(1919, 1937) also thought that he could speak of an attempt made by
Ioniţă and his successors to include North-Danubian Romanians in an
imperial synthesis with assistance from their Cuman suzerains. This
hypothesis is feasible, but relatively difficult to accept because North of the
Danube, the Cumans themselves represented an “imperial” force that was
able to impose a certain direction even to the policy of the Czardom.
Some Romanian historians have thought that the Second Czardom
influenced the forms of cultural Slavism in the medieval Romanian states
North of the Danube. Such influences would have been brought to bear
through the authority embodied in the bishoprics along the Danube. Were
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133
such influences to have occurred, the process would have begun during a
later phase in the history of the Czardom, in the aftermath of the Tartar
domination, when the Romanian-Bulgarian links strengthened in
opposition to the Ottoman threat and when the Orthodox states in
Southeastern Europe attempted to form a coalition in the Fourteenth
Century. But since at that point the Czardom was already divided into two
structures, the Târnovo and the Vidin Czardoms, the Second Bulgarian
Czardom was no longer a great Balkan power. Rather, it found itself at the
same level as the North-Danubian Romanian states and it even needed
their assistance.
Yet, it appears that the Banat and the Oltenia regions did have a strong
relationship with the Romanian-Bulgarian state during the rule of the first
Asenids. Although the relationship was documented under Boril’s rule, the
surviving evidence is insufficient to support an emphatic statement in this
respect. As for modern Romanian cultural Slavism, it is more likely a
legacy of the first Bulgarian state, consolidated by later contacts with the
mainly Serbian and of course the Bulgarian South Slav world.
Romanians are therefore at the origin of the Second Bulgarian Czardom
for which they set the basis by virtue of a specific historical impulse and a
tradition of solidarity with Bulgarians, through the Asenid anti-Byzantine
reaction. Combined with purely Romanian elements such as the idea of
Romanian Romanity, the ideology of the old Czardom gave direction and
legitimacy to creative Romanian political efforts. But this ideology also bore
the seeds of change into a purely Bulgarian Empire. The reduced numbers
of Balkan Romanians, the severing of all links with Rome, the breaking
away from Catholicism, as well as the return of the state to Bulgarian
imperial traditions and to spiritual Byzantinism entailed the disappearance
both of Romanians as such and of their memory from the history of this
Czardom. Although intellectually important, since it represented the first
assertion of the idea of Romanity as a political hallmark, the moment did
not have any historically measurable effects for the lives of the NorthDanubian Romanians. Viewed as a world-historical factor, the Bulgarian
idea did not serve as a lasting creative catalyst to Romanians. On the
contrary, it proved to be an agent of undisputed alienation when
confronted with their own Romanic core, chasing them away from the front
line of history. On the other hand, the encounter with Rome, occasioned
by the Byzantine crisis and by accompanying political events in
Southeastern Europe, turned out to be favourable and to generate a
beneficial impetus to the Romanians, placing them, albeit not for very long,
among the European powers of that time. This situation represented a new
confirmation of an old truth, namely that the assertion of Romanian
Romanity, seen as a critical factor and a differentiating principle of their
national being, was the only way in which Romanians could fully act in
world history as a distinct ethnic and political entity.
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C. THE “AROMANIAN” ISSUE
1. Stages of the “Aromanian Issue” in the Development of Romanian Balkan
Policy
Many pages of Balkanology have been devoted to the so-called national
rebirth of the Aromanians in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries.
Generally speaking, both Romanian and foreign researchers claim that this
Aromanian national rebirth, identifiable at the level of both written culture
and institutional life, was the result of an initiative taken by Romanian
Forty-Eighters. These persons, owing to the mediation by outstanding
émigrés in the aftermath of the 1848 Revolution, Christian Tell, Nicolae
Bălcescu, Ion Ghica, Ion Ionescu de la Brad made contact with the
Aromanians who lived in the Ottoman Empire. As a result, they
experienced intensely the rediscovery of many distant “brothers” and
decided to fulfil, as soon as possible, the ideal of reinserting them into the
mass of a culturally and politically reborn Romanianism.
Context permitting, after the union of the Romanian Principalities,
Bucharest became the center of a national effort of cultural propaganda
among Aromanians. It was supported by the Romanian State that
managed to acquire and to preserve the right to open and to develop a
network of Romanian schools for the Aromanians in the Balkan Peninsula.
The schools were later followed by a similar network of churches in which
religious services were conducted in Romanian. These actions marked the
beginning of a Balkan Romanian policy intended to strengthen a status of
cultural autonomy and to provide protection to the Aromanians by the
Romanian State. Carried out with tenacity and diplomatic skill in the
changing and often unstable circumstances of political life in the Balkan
Peninsula, this action proved successful and remained a constant
direction of Romanian foreign policy until 1945.
In terms of both political practice and the writing of history, the
Aromanian issue was also a source of high-pitched confrontations and
controversies between Romanians and other Balkan inhabitants.
Romanian historians and statesmen considered the Aromanians to be
“brothers” – or “first cousins”, in the words of René Pinon (1908) at the
beginning of the Twentieth Century – of the Daco-Romanians, openly
considering them Balkan Romanians or even Romanians who had
emigrated, over the centuries, from ancient Dacia to the South.
While these Romanians supported their distant relatives according to
what they deemed to be a moral duty and a national political imperative,
non-Romanian Balkan historians and statesmen claimed, with very few
exceptions, that the Aromanians were not Romanians and that the
intervention of Romania in their favour was a form of cultural imperialism,
an act the hidden agenda of which was an attempt at political and
territorial expansion and annexation. Having reached the peak of its
influence during the Balkan Wars, the Aromanian policy of Romania
underwent a decline as further wars determined the dismemberment of the
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135
Ottoman Empire and the strengthening of Balkan national states. The
network of Romanian schools and churches shrunk quite considerably
and was only tolerated in Greece, owing to certain special circumstances.
The Second World War and the changes it brought about in the social and
political structures of Southeastern Europe simply did away with the
Aromanian issue and sealed the fate of Aromanians under the guise of a
gradual, but increasing, de-Romanianization. Today, the “Aromanian
issue” is no longer a political reality, but rather a topic of great interest for
objective research that has so far been insufficiently exploited.
The following pages will provide only an outline of the development of
the Aromanian issue and establish certain priorities for investigation in the
future. It will also attempt to sum up the reliable results obtained up to
this point and to describe some very recent research.
The point that has to be made from the very start is that no matter how
critical the importance of the Romanian initiative in bringing up the
Aromanian issue was and no matter how decisive the actions of Romania
were in support of this reawakening, they were not the first impulse of the
process. The prerequisites for the Aromanian rebirth were Balkan and
were set by the natural development of Romanian Balkanity itself, which
never lacked awareness of its own ethnic individuality nor the impetus to
defend its rights. Therefore, both the cultural and the political efforts made
by Aromanians, who produced what came to be known as the Nineteenth
and Twentieth Century Aromanian national rebirth, were only the results
of the growth of and the inner changes in the Balkan Romanian world in
the context of the history of Southeastern Europe. As the Aromanians had
been aware of their own ethnicity and linguistic individuality since the
Middle Ages, during which they had enjoyed a degree of relative autonomy,
they could not help but be part of the general process of Balkan national
reawakening in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries. They too asserted
their cultural autonomy.
The Aromanian issue was just one of the components of the larger
Eastern European issue during the period. Having to face the impetuous
and sometimes intolerant assertion of various forms of Balkan nationalism
over this period, when national states were established and strengthened
in the Peninsula on the ruins of the Ottoman Empire, the Aromanians
developed their own national movement and found a natural support for it
in Romania. At the same time, the Romanians making up the United
Principalities, in their turn, could not overlook the Aromanians in their
attempt to define the future framework of their national, cultural, and
political assertion. The attempt to interpret the Aromanian issue, as some
historians and politicians have done, as an artificial creation of self-serving
Romanian diplomacy, and the Aromanian national rebirth, as a product of
Romanian propaganda and material investment in the Balkans, is
indicative, not only of a tendency to give voice to fabrications, but also to a
regrettable lack of a sense of history. To the citizens of the Romanian
State, this rebirth represented the latest and most vital manifestation of
modern and contemporary Balkan Romanity, just as the Asenid movement
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represented the contemporary manifestation of the vitality of Haemus
Romanity in the Middle Ages.
It is in this spirit that this study addresses the issue. It endeavours to
show how the Aromanians in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries
asserted their ethnic and cultural individuality in new ways, in response to
their contacts with the Daco-Romanians who had created their own state
and were promoting their own national culture. In evolving in this fashion,
the Aromanians demonstrated a perfect historical, existential, and creative
continuity that was very much part of the “Eastern Revolution” as
described by Victor Papacostea (1983).
This study also demonstrates that, in parallel with this assertion, the
Aromanians developed an awareness of their unity with the NorthDanubian Romanians and the realization that this unity had been hidden
by centuries of separation and independent development in special
circumstances. In the case of the North-Danubian Romanians, they too
became increasingly aware of their national and linguistic identity with the
Aromanians, this awareness becoming a motive for increasing support and
an incentive for action.
2. Balkan Prerequisites of the Aromanian National Rebirth
Relying on written diplomatic and cultural sources, the research of Valeriu
Papahagi (1935, 1937) and Victor Papacostea (1983) convincingly
identified the Balkan prerequisites for the Nineteenth Century Aromanian
national rebirth as being linked to the development of urban life in Epirus
and in the Pindus Mountains, in the Eighteenth Century. Urban
development in this context was stimulated by the Southward movement
of the East-West trade route through the Balkan Peninsula resulting from
changed relationships among the great powers of that time. A result was
the appearance of a new market for the Venice trade in Epirus, entailing
the development of new transit and distribution centers for the goods
coming this way. These centers were the Aromanian cities, among which
Moscopolis and Aminciu (Metsovo) ranked at the top, followed by Călăreţi,
Siracu, Clisura, and Gramoste. As they were now directly involved in the
international goods circuit, these Aromanian shepherds, Epirus and
Pindus Vlachs, who used to be wagon builders and craftsmen with a good
knowledge of how to process sheep-derived natural products (milk, wool),
became merchants operating on a European scale. They also introduced
important elements of industrialization into their towns producing marketfocused textiles and undertaking smaller metal-working activities.
Aromanians integrated into Byzantine urban life can be identified as
early as the Eleventh Century, but by the Eighteenth Century, they were
no longer an individual or minority presence in various Greek centers such
as Thessalian Larissa. Rather, they had come to form a true Romanic
patriciate as a result of the transformation of their villages into genuine
urban centers. Although beginning at the end of the Sixteenth Century,
the development of the Epirus and Pindus urban centers reached its peak
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137
in the Eighteenth Century. The process was facilitated by the traditional
status of autonomy that had always been accorded to the Balkan
Peninsula Vlachs, to which were added the very liberal rights that they had
obtained in the Ottoman Empire. Over time, the Aromanians strengthened
these rights and liberties.
Unfortunately, little detailed information concerning the Aromanian
cities in this long flourishing period is available. The situation of the most
important of these centers, Moscopolis, is best known, even though no
thorough study has been devoted to it. It is known that fourteen main
corporations of craftsmen and merchants were centered in Moscopolis, out
of a total of fifty large and small associations of this type. They grouped
together goldsmiths, silversmiths, coppersmiths, armorers, weavers,
tailors, grocers, shoemakers, builders, house painters, etc. The heads of
the main corporations formed a supreme leadership council invested with
judicial powers. Only disputes with foreigners and penal cases were
referred to the Ottoman judicial authorities, either the Berat pasha or the
Karitsa cadi.
Throughout the years, Moscopoleans became important capital holders
and together with the Aromanians in the other urban centers mentioned
above established a rising middle class to which the Balkan Peninsula was
later very much indebted for its modernization. A city with large, solid, and
spacious houses, the remains of which can be seen to this day, Moscopolis
had a large number of churches. As usual with Aromanians, the city
inhabitants were grouped into neighbourhoods that frequently assembled
people of similar origins. Urban organization still preserved traces of the
old phalkaris, the Aromanian traditional form of social life. The élite, or in
other words, the city patriciate, was recruited from the founding “tribe”.
Over time, Moscopolis also developed a very intense cultural life
exemplified by the creation of a higher education establishment, the socalled New Academy, and by the setting up, in the second half of the
Eighteenth Century, of the only printing press in the Ottoman Empire. As
proven by the research of Victor Papacostea (1983), Moscopolis was one of
the centers from which modern philosophical ideas and progressive
thinking were disseminated throughout the Balkan Peninsula. During the
headship of Theodore Anastasie Cavaliotti, the New Academy was a citadel
of free thought in which an intellectual combat was waged between
scholastic Aristotelianism, on the one hand, and the new ideas of Western
incipient Enlightenment and Cartesian rationalism, on the other hand, as
the latter underwent further dissemination. The high cultural level of the
Moscopoleans was attested by foreign travellers who reported the existence
of an impressive number of books in local houses. Western European
visitors could find ancient works and everything that was needed for
intellectual activity and delight.
Among the Moscopolean cultural personalities of note, one can cite
Theodor A. Cavaliotti; Chrysant of Zitsa; John Chalkeus, a professor in
Venice; Ioasaf, the Ohrid Patriarch; Dionysius Manduca, the Metropolitan
Bishop of Castoria; Dimitrios Pamperi; Daniil Mihail Hagi Adami the
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Moscopolean; and Constantine Hagi-Tchagani, a student of Johannes
Thunmann (1774) in Halle at a later date and who provided unique
information about the life and history of the Aromanians.
Like their Aromanian predecessors who had joined the circle of Greek
Christian scholars in the Balkan Peninsula in the Byzantine and Ottoman
Empires, all these highly cultivated personalities wrote their works and,
when possible, taught in the cultural and linguistic framework of postByzantine Hellenism, in classical or Byzantine Greek, the sacred language
of the Christian East par excellence. During the same period, this language
served as the language of high culture in the Romanian territories, a reality
easily explained by the Aromanian affiliation to the “Greek” Church and to
Byzantine Orthodoxy. During the Balkan Middle Ages, the vision of the
world was such that it would have been inconceivable for Aromanians,
who were Vlach subjects of Byzantium and then of the Ottoman Empire, to
express themselves in a national language, given that they lacked a state of
their own and that their Church was not free of the Constantinople
hierarchy. By the same token, those Aromanians who were influenced by
the Balkan Slavic world, as in the case of the Haemus Vlachs, centuries
earlier, adopted the instrument of linguistic expression of their world,
namely Slavonic.
One should not, however, assume that the Aromanians were not aware
of their ethnic individuality or that they thought of themselves as being
Greek, unable to distinguish between real Greeks and themselves. Often
enough in the Middle Ages, confessional awareness prevailed over national
awareness, while attachment to forms of local autonomy proved more
vigorous than any sense of linguistic and ethnic belonging. Their belonging
to “Romaic” culture and civilization that was inspired by the Byzantine
imperial tradition and their belonging to an Eastern Christian “Greek”
church facilitated Aromanian manifestations of their ethnic features, in
terms of oral culture, folklore, and daily life.
Aromanians were by no means ethnically frustrated because they had
adopted Greek as an instrument of cultural expression. Quite the contrary,
they had the feeling that they were partaking of a superior cultural life, in
which there was sometimes real competition and rivalry. Neophytos
Doukas (1810), one of the Eighteenth-Nineteenth Century champions of
Hellenism, gave special credit to the Vlachs as masters of “Hellenic”
culture considering that frequently they did better than the Greeks
themselves, in terms of cultural effort, owing to their dynamism and
generosity. Indeed, the medieval religious legislation of the Ottoman
Empire had grouped all the Balkan Orthodox Christians as the so-called
Rum mileti, the Romaic or Byzantine people.
Under the influence of the ideas of the Enlightenment and as a result of
a development that is beyond the scope of this study, the Eighteenth
Century witnessed a mutation in the self-awareness of the Eastern
Christian communities that eventually gave rise to forms of modern
national awareness based on nationality, language, and ethnic origins
rather than on confessional affiliation. Given the fresh impetus of
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139
philosophical thinking, the Greeks rediscovered classic, Pagan, antiquity
and capitalized on it in a different manner than what had previously been
the case with reference to Christian Byzantium. Hellenism, no longer
viewed as a synonym for Paganism, was rehabilitated. Thus, a national
Hellenic culture replaced Christian imperial Romaic culture, and the
Greeks attempted to appropriate the whole patrimony inherited from
Byzantium. Orthodoxy tended to become a Hellenistic variant that began
to prevail in the sense of religion existing in Greek self-awareness. The
Constantinople Patriarchate gradually turned into an instrument of
Hellenism and an intransigent agent of the Greek nationalization of
Eastern Christendom.
At the same time, the other Christian peoples in the Balkan Peninsula
also underwent a similar modernization process. They too wanted to assert
their respective nationalities in higher cultural forms and thus reacted
against this tendency to Hellenize. The struggle between Hellenism and the
nationalisms of the other non-Greek Christian peoples, as well as many
rivalries among the latter, were a major trait of the Nineteenth Century
history of the region. Such struggles also extended into the Twentieth
Century, when the Balkan national states established their boundaries
and in later attempts at the imposition of ethnic homogeneity. These
struggles quite often assumed regrettable degrees of intolerance and
violence.
Moscopolis lay in a typically Balkan environment, one that was in
keeping with what scholars, not very aptly, have called the ethnic
“promiscuity” of the Peninsula. It was an area in which Greeks,
Aromanians, Albanians, and Slavs lived together in a singularly colourful
mosaic and in which, unfortunately, acute tensions and clashes occurred
during the period of national rebirth. During the Byzantine epoch, this
mosaic pattern was what inspired a character called “the
Bulgaroarvanitovlach” or “the Servobulgaroarvanitovlach” in a text written
by a historian of that period. An expression of the (still peaceful)
cosmopolitanism of that region was the fact that Eighteenth Century
Moscopolean scholars began to have what V. Papacostea (1983) described
as “comparative linguistics concern”. Both Daniil the Moscopolean and
Theodore Anastasie Cavaliotti draw up multilingual glossaries and spoke
several Balkan Languages (Greek, Albanian, Aromanian), also using them
in writing. It is to these persons that are owed the first written mention of
Aromanian. In particular, Daniil the Moscopolean assembled his Lexicon
Tetraglosson (Greek, Romanian, Albanian, Bulgarian) integrated into a set
of Introductory Teachings having a religious, scientific, and epistolary
character. Cavaliotti drew up a reading handbook, a Protopeiria, along with
a trilingual – Greek, Aromanian, and Albanian – vocabulary. The purpose
of such writings was to give non-Greeks easier access to the secrets of the
Hellenic cultural language. In the work of Daniil the Moscopolean, the
Hellenic choice was obvious, for he wrote an epigram in which he lobbied
for cultural Hellenization, for “Romanization”, to use his own term. He
claimed that this task could be accomplished by giving up all uncultivated
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barbarian languages and by taking up, instead, the “holy” language of
Greece. Daniil believed that the cultural Hellenization of the Balkan nonGreek Christians would be the ideal instrument of emancipation, one
capable of doing away with cultural primitivism and perhaps even with
Ottoman rule.
The same idea appeared to be less obvious, if not downright doubtful, to
certain researchers who studied the work of Cavaliotti. The main feature of
Cavaliotti’s thought is his attempt to equalize all the Balkan languages
within an equal opportunity policy intended to give them all fair chances to
improve through direct contact with – or inspiration from – the language of
Greek higher culture. For this reason, Cavaliotti can be viewed as the
forerunner both of Balkan cultural nationalism and of the Aromanian
national emancipation movement. His position can also be inferred from
the fact that his book was published in Venice and was most likely
destroyed by the Patriarchal authorities, not the least because he used the
Latin alphabet. In any case, these two scholars displayed the two basic
tendencies of Aromanian cultural development: the so-called Greek
tendency and the Romanizing tendency (later to become a Romanianizing
tendency).
It is an undisputed truth that, in the second half of the Eighteenth
Century, the written form of the Aromanian dialect was expressed in the
Greek alphabet, first appearing in the Aromanian place of origin, i.e.,
Moscopolis, through a process of cultural assertion of a significant group
of Balkan Vlachs. It has also been proven that the Moscopolean
Aromanian urban area, which was pervaded by progressive ideas and a
strong philosophical spirit, triggered off, if only for practical purposes,
certain comparative linguistic concerns that were deemed capable of
receiving and promoting the spirit of inter-ethnic tolerance and dialogue
between Balkan nationalities. In the modern age, the Aromanian cultural
assertion undoubtedly began under the sign of Christian solidarity and
mutual respect among the Balkan Peninsula nationalities, a proof of
progress and genuine civilization in itself.
3. The Beginnings of Aromanian Written Culture among Aromanian Émigrés
in Central Europe
As Aromanians were almost always merchants or wagon builders by
profession, they were often required for reasons of business to travel to the
Western European countries, to the Habsburg Empire, to Germany, to
Hungary, to the Romanian territories, and to other parts of the world. In
most cases and in most countries, they found themselves in the company
of Greeks who were frequently grouped into a number of merchant
associations in the places in which they settled owing, on the one hand, to
their religious confession and cultural affiliation, and on the other hand, to
their common condition as Ottoman subjects. For this reason, Aromanians
were identified with Greeks and were in no hurry to deny an identity that
could lead to their being granted certain privileges. At the same time, one
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cannot speak of a Balkan Aromanian mass emigration until the Eighteenth
Century. At the end of that Century, a catastrophe took place that entailed
a population movement of precisely this kind. It was the fall of Moscopolis
after several devastating raids launched by Muslim Albanian troops under
the command of Ali Pasha, the Yanina satrap, in the aftermath of the
Russo-Turkish Wars.
It would be beyond the scope of this study to reflect overly much on this
migration of Moscopoleans that was followed or accompanied by
inhabitants of Metsovo, Kalari, and other Pindus or Epirus Aromanian
towns. Many Aromanian patriciate families from these urban centers took
refuge, with all their belongings and their huge amounts of money, mainly
in the Habsburg Empire, later settling either in Vienna, Budapest, or
Miskolc, or in Transylvania, Banat, and even in Germany. Everywhere they
went, they founded chambers of commerce, banks, and industrial
companies. They quickly recovered from the trauma and hardships of
exile, managing to join the Austrian or the Hungarian aristocracy,
acquiring titles of nobility, and gradually melting into the Austrian and the
Hungarian nations or, in the case of those who moved into Transylvania
and Banat, undergoing Romanianization. The following are a few of the
patronymics of these remarkable families: Dumba, Sina, Tirca, TricupaCosminsky, Mocioni, Gojdu, Şaguna, Gabrovsky, Derra, and Vretovsky.
Aromanian colonies in Central European cities, but mainly in Budapest
and Vienna, flourished very rapidly. As the result of the directions of
cultural development that had begun in the Balkans, these colonies were
affected both by Hellenizing and by national Romanizing tendencies.
However, the general trait of all Aromanians in these centers, irrespective
of their cultural choices, was their careful preservation and manifestation,
under a variety of forms, of their ethnic, Vlach identity. Grouped around
churches of Eastern, i.e., Greek, persuasion, they retained the designation,
Vlach, to emphasize their ethnic individuality in their official and
distinguishing titles. Thus, both the Orthodox Church and the Orthodox
community in Vienna were designated as being “of the Greeks and Vlachs”,
while the privilege through which Emperor Joseph II (1780-1790) granted
certain rights to this community and Church referred to “die Griechische
und Walachische Nation”, i.e., the Greek and Vlach nation. The
commitment to Vlachity can also be observed in the traditional and
endogamous nature of the first generation of descendants of the new
Austrian and Hungarian “barons” of Aromanian origin.
As in the Pindus, Aromanian men only married Aromanian women. At a
later date, in 1815, the city of Budapest was to witness the formal
founding of an Aromanian Ladies Society established for cultural and
philanthropic purposes. According to one of the regulations of the
Budapest Greek-Aromanian Church, one of the priests had to be of
Aromanian origin to be able to hear the confessions of these ladies who,
just as in their native country, spoke no Greek at all.
The Aromanian émigrés in Central Europe who engaged in cultural
Hellenism did not perceive any incompatibility between Christianity and
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philosophy in general, expressed in Greek, and their Vlach ethnic features
that distinguished them from genuine Greeks. The Aromanian brothers,
Siaciştea and Marchide Puliu, who ran a Greek printing press in Vienna,
printed many Hellenic nationalistic texts, among them being Velestinlis
Rigas’s proclamation of Greek independence. They also printed Aromanian
national materials, such as Constantine Ucuta’s primer, to which reference
is made below.
Aromanian families continued to flourish at the upper levels of society
in their foster countries. Thus, the Sina family made important
contributions to the establishment of the Hungarian Agrarian Credit and
the Hungarian Insurance Company, as well as to a number of other
activities and institutions: the railway system and steam navigation, the
dredging of rivers, the Hungarian National Museum, the National Theatre,
the Music Academy, the Corps of Firemen, and the palace of the
Hungarian Academy of Science. At the same time, Baron Simeon George
Sina built the Greek Academy in Athens and worked as a representative of
the Greek King, Otto I, in Berlin, Vienna, and Munich. In addition to being
married to an Aromanian lady from the Ghyka family, this second
generation descendant of an Aromanian, who had settled in the Habsburg
Empire, also had business links with the Romanian territories, and owned
a number of properties in the United Principalities. Some exchanges of
letters indicate that he was involved in certain financial matters with the
Romanian Prince, Alexandru Ioan Cuza. Yet, he did not express any
awareness of Romanianity.
On the other hand, other Central European Aromanians, aware of their
Romanianity, wrote a series of texts that marked the beginning of the
Aromanian national rebirth. The first of these persons was Constantine
Ucuta, a protopope in Posen (Poznan), in former Western Prussia, who
wrote the New Pedagogy, the first Aromanian primer, using the Greek
alphabet, aimed at educating Aromanian children in their mother tongue.
This book was published in 1797 in Vienna. Ucuta’s “Foreword” is a
veritable cultural manifesto for the promotion of Aromanian as a language
of culture. Starting with the words of Saint Paul, “He who prays in a
foreign tongue only does it with his soul, not with his mind” (for he merely
utters or repeats words he cannot understand), Ucuta considered it
necessary for Aromanian children to be able to speak with God in their
own tongue, to develop a truly Christian sense at an intellectual level.
Therefore, in writing his pedagogical book, Ucuta wished to help children
learn their own language. Indeed, he apologized for having borrowed words
and terminology from Greek, mentioning that all languages and cultures
exchange various elements, the Hellenes serving as a loan source for
everybody.
This modest book by the Posen Aromanian protopope marked a step
both in terms of progress in quality and in Aromanian self-awareness, but
it led to a conflict with the Greek clergy and with those Greek intellectuals
under the control of the Oecumenical Patriarchate, which excommunicated
the author and forbade his work on the grounds of heresy. Having been
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born in Moscopolis, Ucuta was no agent of any type of propaganda, but
because he grew up and was educated in a Central European environment
pervaded by Enlightenment ideas and also because he may have been in
contact with North-Danubian Romanians, Ucuta chose to give voice to a
wish that had been developing in the Aromanian environment from which
he had come. The wish itself had evolved as the result of a long evolution.
A second representative of the Aromanian national rebirth was George
Constantine Roja, a physician by profession, who was born in Bitola in
1776, moved to Timişoara when he was an adolescent, and then went to
the University of Budapest. Here he wrote a doctoral thesis titled Research
on the Romanians Who Live Across the Danube (Budapest, 1808) and
signed it, “Vallachus Moschopolitanus”. One year later, Roja produced The
Craftsmanship of Reading in Romanian with Latin Letters which Belong to
Old Romanian (Budapest, 1809), in an attempt to unify the Aromanian
dialect with the Daco-Romanian language and to establish a single literary
language for all Romanians. Through the efforts of Roja, who undoubtedly
kept in touch with various representatives of the Latinist Transylvanian
School, the idea of Aromanian and Daco-Romanian unity became a
component of the ideology of the Aromanian national rebirth. By virtue of
the unity of the North- and South-Danubian Romanians and their
common Latinity, Roja argued that the Latin alphabet should be used to
write Aromanian. Possibly under the influence of the Greek linguistic
mentality, he also tried to create a common cultural language.
Theodor Capidan (1932) also identified the likely influence of the
Transylvanian School which, through the efforts of Petru Maior, had
attempted to develop a Romanian literary language, borrowing Aromanian
elements as part of his effort. Roja disagreed with Cavaliotti over the
question of written Aromanian. This disagreement was interesting, for it
reflected in one of the latter’s contemporaries a divergent position, but one
that was only divergent in terms of the written aspect and had nothing to
do with his intention of cultivating the Aromanian dialect. One can
conclude that Cavaliotti himself was not only a supporter of the study of
Aromanian but also of its cultivation. What cannot be doubted is the
continuity of intellectual links between the Moscopolean scholars in the
previous generation and Roja who, given his contacts with the
Transylvanian School, the Daco-Romanians, and the Central European
environment during the Enlightenment, continued to work for Aromanian
cultural assertion, enriching the ideology of this movement with the idea of
Aromanian and Daco-Romanian unity.
Roja’s history must have enjoyed a wide audience, judging by its, large
for the time, print run of 637 copies. He turned into a sort of Aromanian
literary font who, many decades later, inspired the efforts of George Murnu
to enrich the Romanian literary language. Roja can be considered the
Aromanian representative of the Latinist school and the founder of the
Aromanian branch of this school, along with its specific problems.
The third mastermind of the movement at the beginning of the
Nineteenth Century for the national assertion of Central European
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Aromanians was Mihail G. Boiagi who was born in 1780, in Budapest, into
an Aromanian family whose place of origin was Albania and who died in
1842 or 1843. He was the author of a Romanian or Macedo-Vlach
Grammar published in 1813 in Vienna. Although it was written in German
and Greek, it included an anthology of Aromanian texts. A keen supporter
of Aromanian Romanity, Boiagi conceived his grammar to be an answer to
the attacks of Neophytos Doukas. The latter opposed the use of Romanian
in its Aromanian hypostasis as a language of culture, the attempts of the
Aromanians to free themselves from the Greek cultural sphere, and their
efforts to establish themselves as a nation of their own, thus seceding from
the Greek world.
Boiagi’s “Foreword” to his own grammar is filled with national pride and
common sense. At the same time, it is pervaded by a very special national
pathos. Defending the principle of the cultivation of national languages,
one that had special significance in the Aromanian case, the author
exclaims: “even if the Romanians were Hottentots [Khoi-Khoi], they would
still have the right and the obligation to improve themselves in their own
language”. As for Neophytos Doukas’s remarks about the small changes
needed to polish the Aromanian dialect, Boiagi replied that the language
will refine itself in parallel with the cultivation of the spirit, which is yet
another generally valid principle. In response to the publication of Boiagi’s,
Grammar, the Patriarchy decided to blacklist the book and to
excommunicate the author, even though he continued to be a teacher in
the Vienna Greek school.
It was Max Demeter Peyfuss (1974, 1989) who emphasized the links
existing between Boiagi and Serbian and Slovene progressive circles. Also,
Peyfuss (1974, 1989) stressed the fact that Boiagi had made special efforts
to emancipate the Aromanian spoken tongue from the rule of the Greek
literary language, placing him in the context of similar attempts made by
intellectuals of other Balkan peoples. According to Peyfuss (1974, 1989),
Jernej Bartolomej Kopitar published his Slovenian grammar in 1808; Vuk
Karadjić came out with a Serbian grammar in 1814; Neophyt Rilskij
printed a Bulgarian grammar in 1835; while the victory of demotic Greek,
following Adamantios Koraïs’s efforts in the Eighteenth Century, would
only be made evident in 1888, thanks to Jannis Psycharis.
Owing to the three masterminds cited above, the Aromanian cultural
rebirth at the end of the Eighteenth and the beginning of the Nineteenth
Centuries inaugurated a trend of ideas with a well-articulated doctrine. It
was equally linked to progressive thinking among Central European
peoples and to the trend started by the Transylvanian School among DacoRomanians, albeit with specific differences, in the latter case.
The Aromanian rebirth, however, is perceived as an intellectual
movement with strong Balkan roots and as a result of the development of
the Aromanians themselves. Given the favourable circumstances of their
assertion in the Central Europe of Emperor Joseph II, Aromanian scholars
developed a tradition of their own and joined the Transylvanian Romanian
militants in their effort to generate a better perception of Romanian
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145
culture. A large number of impulses, ideas, and linguistic elements
travelled both ways in this relationship.
The Greek response was strong and negative. While unable to prevent
the further development of the movement, the Greek authorities restricted
it to the centers of the Aromanian diaspora.
Among the Aromanian scholars who made their voices heard during
this period of rebirth, it is necessary to mention a few less famous writers
such as Nicholas Ianovici, who compiled a dictionary in five languages
(classical Greek, modern Greek, Aromanian, German, and Hungarian), and
perhaps Georg Montan, author of a Brief History of the Vlach Nation in
Dacia and Macedonia, completed in Budapest, in 1819, in German, and of
other works. Although Ianovici never published his dictionary, leaving it in
manuscript form (and available for consultation at the Library of the
Romanian Academy), the result of his efforts was important, thanks to the
ideas they supported. Of Moscopolean origin, the author pleaded for a
common Romanity of Aromanians and Daco-Romanians and, in support of
his argument, favoured the Latinizing tendency in the written Aromanian
dialect, suggesting that certain Graecisms be replaced by Latinizing
neologisms. The samples of the Aromanian dialect that he cited reflect the
situation of Moscopolean Aromanian at the time he wrote.
Although Montan had a name of Latin consonance, one cannot be
totally certain that he was Aromanian. M. D. Peyfuss (1974, 1999),
however, argues that he definitely was Aromanian, invoking, among other
things, the fact that he was acquainted with the Aromanian and the
Balkan environment, as can also be seen in some of his other works, as
well as the support given to him by Aromanian families in the Habsburg
Empire and by Aromanian ladies in Budapest for the publication of his
historical works. In this regard, Roja’s influence could also be noticed.
Montan’s historical texts, pervaded as they were by the ideas of a common
Romanity and of a unity between Aromanians and Daco-Romanians,
served to heighten the dissemination of the ideology of Aromanian rebirth
in the wider circles of Romanian and Central European society.
In addition to all these writings, one should also mention several
religious manuscripts that have been discovered over the years, some of
which have been published. They reveal that a written form of Aromanian
existed at the time, both in the Balkan Peninsula and within the
Aromanian colonies in the Habsburg Empire. The writers of these
documents did not include those Aromanians who expressed themselves
in Greek, but whose national awareness could be certified by what they
wrote in Greek. The latter included Dimitri Nicholas Darvari, Constantine
I. Darvari, Constantine Immanuel Ghyka of Djanfalva, John Nicolidis of
Pindo, and Basil Papa Eftimiu.
4. Pre-Nineteenth Century Daco-Romanians and Balkan Romanians
The medieval traditions of Romania have not preserved memories of any
common origins of Daco-Romanians and of Balkan Romanians or any
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information about contacts and co-operation between the two groups.
Likewise, nothing is said in these traditions about existing contacts
between the Asenid Romanians and the Bulgarians. Later on, however,
Romanian humanist historical narratives in all three of the historical
provinces of North-Danubian Romania (Moldavia, Walachia, and
Transylvania), would constantly assert the linguistic unity and the
common origin of the ancient Daco-Romanians and the Balkan Peninsula
Romanians, relying on both written sources and the direct knowledge of
certain Aromanians who had travelled to the North-Danubian Romanian
territories.
It would be totally wrong to assume that it was only out of sheer
political opportunism that this idea of the national and linguistic unity of
Daco-Romanians and Balkan Romanians appears in the Nineteenth
Century within the corpus of Romanian culture. Such can be inferred from
the results of some research undertaken in the Balkan world. It would be
misleading to believe that this idea was the exclusive product of Romanian
scholars. It is in fact as old as Romanian humanist writing itself, and it
appears even earlier, in the works of certain foreign humanists such as the
Byzantine author, Laonikos Chalcocondyles in the Sixteenth Century, to
cite one of the first exponents of the idea.
The interest in the “Cotso-Vlachs”, but also in the Asenid Haemus
Vlachs, with which the former are identified, has been evident in
Romanian historical writing since the end of the Seventeenth and the
beginning of the Eighteenth Centuries. The short chronicle written by
Nicholas Milescu the Sword Bearer (Nicolae Milescu Spătarul), that was
taken up again by Constantine “the High Steward” Cantacuzino (1958), as
well as by Miron Costin (1959) and Dimitrie Cantemir (1901), devotes a
number of pages to Balkan Romanians. It describes their Romanic
ethnicity along with their linguistic unity with the Daco-Romanians, with
whom they seemed to have an overlapping identity. Miron Costin (1959)
claimed that he had the opportunity to speak to a number of Aromanians
and that, by doing so, was able to get to know their language and to check
his scholarly information straight from the source. As is well known, D.
Cantemir theorized that a union developed between the Romanian
territories and the Asenid Bulgaro-Vlach empire. He also referred to the
kinship, which existed between the latter, on the one hand, and the Muşat
and the Bassarab dynasties, on the other hand.
The Transylvanian School represented both by its leaders, Gheorghe
Şincai, Samuil Micu (1963), and Petru Maior, and by its less well-known
partisans, clearly argued for the common origin, as well as the linguistic
and national unity of the Daco-Romanians and of all the Balkan
Romanians. The latter were perceived as the successors of those Romans
who were moved from Dacia to lands South of the Danube by Emperor
Aurelian, in 271. This school drew up a systematic, complete, sourceinspired, and (a bit over-) rigorously articulated representation of the origin
and the evolution of Eastern Romanity and of the Romanian people,
viewed as an ethnic and linguistic whole. The Transylvanian School
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continued Cantemir’s tradition, from which it borrowed the critical
elements of his view of Romanian history. At the same time, it took
advantage of the available written sources and of Western scholarly texts,
but, as already stated, it also used information gleaned from Aromanian
émigrés in Central Europe and from scholars who initiated an Aromanian
rebirth, the starting point of which was Balkan Moscopolis. The
Transylvanian School responded to the latter by providing cultural and
ideological support. The idea of Romanity was the meeting ground of
Aromanian and Transylvanian intellectuals, while resistance to intolerant
Hellenism proved to be a common reaction of both Romanian and
Aromanian scholars committed to the assertion of their Romanity.
At no time during the age of humanism of Romanian culture or during
the century of the Enlightenment did co-operation between Aromanians
and Romanians go beyond the scope of cultural activities. The Central
European Aromanians did not relinquish the privileges from which they
benefited because of their “Greek” status or the ranks they achieved in the
Habsburg Empire, nor did they rush in to identify themselves blatantly
with the Romanians in the Principalities during the period of the
Phanariots. Neither Aromanian émigrés, nor the Aromanians who
remained in their places of origin, nor South-Danubian Romanians
conceived of any systematic political action, during the period of “the first
Aromanian rebirth”, to organize the future of the Balkan Vlachs. While
incessantly asserting their ethnic and linguistic individuality, trying to
increase it, and rediscovering their common origins with the DacoRomanians, the Central European Aromanians remained attached to their
traditional connections with the Greek world. In this respect, their
attitudes were similar to those of their brothers who had never left their
native lands. They continued to think, as pointed out below, of a
“Romanic” restoration, of an Eastern Christian Empire of Hellenic cultural
expression, but one that respected their rights and their ethnic features.
For this reason, they massively and decisively participated in the struggle
of the Greek people for political emancipation. Those Aromanians who
settled individually in the Romanian territories, about whom future
investigations will reveal new information, simply allowed themselves to be
assimilated by the local people. The same was true of the Greeks who
decided to remain in Romania during the centuries of Ottoman rule.
The success of the national idea in the spirit of the century, the
radicalization of the Southeastern European national movements, the
union of the Romanian Principalities of Walachia and of Moldavia, and the
emergence, through the Forty-Eighters, of a clearly stated democratic,
national, and political ideal which envisaged the creation of a Romanian
state for all Romanians changed this situation. Another significant
contribution to this change was that of the various Balkan national
movements that aimed at the establishment of national states in the
region. Thus, in the Nineteenth Century, Aromanians had to face the
pressures of full-blown nationalism in the Peninsula and, in their turn, set
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for themselves an agenda of their own for the cultural and political
assertion of their nationality.
D. BEGINNINGS OF THE SECOND AROMANIAN REBIRTH
1. Genesis of the “Aromanian Issue”
Researchers stress that Nicolae Bălcescu, the central figure of the
Romanian movement of the “Forty-Eighters”, unambiguously expressed
the idea of the possible contribution of the Aromanians to the progressive
evolution of the Romanian state. In a letter to Ion Ghica, dated 1 October
1848, Bălcescu declared that he would have liked to settle among the
Pindus Romanians so as to assist them in their cultural and civic
improvement, confident that a day would come when “they will prove
useful to us where they are and where they live” (Bălcescu, 1940).
Obviously, Bălcescu had discovered the Aromanians before his postrevolutionary period of exile. All the historical writing of the time,
particularly that of M. Kogălniceanu (1837), claimed the Aromanians as
part and parcel of the Romanian people and drew what appeared to be the
obvious conclusions. Their names could be found in Romanian history
books and even in the titles of various works. What was really new was the
attitude toward this issue in terms of political practice, as well as the
degree of excitement it brought into being in the United Principalities after
1848 and especially after 1859. This period was the beginning of “the
second Aromanian rebirth”, which was nothing more than a continuation
of the first period of rebirth that had occurred in Central European cities,
at the start of the century.
The effects of this rebirth were the following. It entailed the appearance
of a mass Aromanian national awareness. Aromanians were recognized as
a distinct nationality by the other Balkan Christians and as a branch of
the Romanian people by European diplomacy. A dialectal Romanian
written culture made its presence known. Balkan Aromanians began to
benefit from cultural autonomy under a Romanian protectorate. As the
Aromanian issue became international, it turned into a component of the
whole Eastern problem.
One cannot afford to neglect the part Aromanians themselves played in
the genesis of the Aromanian issue. While in the Balkan Peninsula,
Aromanians were trained mentally for a national political action of their
own, they lacked the means to draw up a well articulated agenda. They
had been disappointed, on the one hand, by the Hellenism which they had
served (and which had become intolerant in the aftermath of Greek
success). On the other hand, the very creation of a Greek state led, along
with the religious ideology propagated by the Oecumenical Patriarchate, to
the promotion of a Balkan pan-Hellenism of a sort that threatened the
national individualities of all of Eastern Christendom. Aromanians could
only feel frustrated and rise up in revolt when faced with the repressive
measures taken by the Patriarchate in regard to authors who had
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149
published Aromanian books and were promoting Aromanian ethnic and
linguistic individuality.
They had the same reaction to Greek nationalist ideas when zealously
propagated in the name of Orthodox Christianity by such people as Cosma
the Etolian who managed to turn many Epirus Romanian villages into
fanatical nuclei of support for the Hellenic cause. Unlike them, the
Aromanians in the Principalities, who had come into contact with DacoRomanians and with their movement of national assertion, did not need
much prodding to turn into intrepid fighters for the Aromanian cause.
Dimitrie Bolintineanu’s personality is truly representative of this
category of people. A poet and a politician, he was the son of an Aromanian
who had settled in Romania and had married a Romanian woman. All his
life he was one of the ardent fighters for the preservation of the linguistic
and ethnic individuality of the Aromanians and for their recognition as
part of the Romanian people. He became the promoter of a political and
cultural movement that involved Aromanians such as the poet, Grigore
Haralambie Grandea of Metsovo, Dimitrie Cozacovici, also of Metsovo, who
was very attached to Mihail G. Boiagi, and to Ion Câmpineanu’s confident,
the poet Mihai Niculescu of Târnovo. Other Aromanians linked to
Bolintineanu were Yisu Sideri and Toma Tricopol of Crushevo, and
Dimitrie Atanasescu of Târnova, a picturesque tailor and schoolteacher
whose entire life was devoted to wandering and fighting for Aromanian
interests. Bolintineanu’s movement also involved outstanding personalities
of the 1848 revolutionary movement and of Romanian political life,
including Ion C. Brătianu, Cezar Bolliac, Christian Tell, and Vasile
Alexandrescu Urechia.
D. Bolintineanu submitted to the Porte the first memorials about the
condition of the Aromanians and drew up their political agenda, with a
clear definition of its objective. The latter called for the preservation of the
national characteristics of the Aromanians through an intensive use of
their language in their own schools and churches, with the support of the
Romanian state. Bolintineanu also articulated a foreign policy framework
for the Aromanians that opted for continued loyalty to the Porte, in
accordance with the policy of the Romanian state. In making this effort,
Bolintineanu advised Aromanians to refrain from anti-Ottoman
revolutionary movements, at least for the time being. The poet himself
compared the Aromanians to the Transylvania Romanians whose objective
was – at least at that stage – survival. Nevertheless, he had an open mind
in regard to the most daring hopes for the “mysterious” future. As a
minister of public education, Bolintineanu took care to implement this
agenda, while as a writer, he promoted the Aromanian cause that was
already underway and wrote well-known Macedonian poems. His work was
cultivated by other poets, such as H. Grandea. Finally, he conceived his
Voyage to Macedonia Romanians partly as a work of bookish fiction
(according to Theodor Capidan, 1942), but also as an instrument of
political propaganda. Enthusiastic, generous, and careful at the same
time, Bolintineanu’s line managed to set the norm for decades on end so
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far as the policy of the Romanian state in regard to the Aromanian issue
was concerned. Taken up by the Liberal Party, this attitude was later
shared by the Conservatives as well. Its later abandonment by right wing
circles and by certain leftists in the Twentieth Century had a lasting
negative impact on many efforts, the ultimate purpose of which was to
recover the Aromanians for the Romanian nation.
2. Memorials and Manifestos
Among the activities (mainly the writing of memorials) which preceded the
systematic organization of the struggle for the Aromanian reawakening in
the second half of the Nineteenth Century, special attention needs to be
devoted to Bolintineanu’s memorials addressed to Grigore Ghica between
1849 and 1856 that influenced the specific measures taken by Prince
Alexandru Ioan Cuza to organize an education system for the Aromanians.
Although his intentions were not put into final form, Bolintineanu’s
memorials to Fuad Pasha, Minister of Foreign Affairs of the Porte and later
Grand Vizier, were the means by which he made a number of suggestions
for ways to improve the lot of Aromanians in the Ottoman Empire. Starting
with the years 1853-1854, he proposed the reestablishment of the
organization of Aromanians into a militia-like structure, able to protect
public roads and mountain passes, the building of schools and churches
in which teaching and religious services would take place in the
Aromanian language, and the transformation of the Aromanian
communities into a security factor for the Ottoman Empire.
Later, I. C. Brătianu’s 1853 memorial to Louis Napoleon also tackled
the Aromanian issue as did Anastase Panu’s 1863 memorial, also to Louis
Napoleon, through which the author suggested that the Aromanians be
organized autonomously under the authority of the French Emperor. They
would thus become agents of French policy in the East, at the obvious
expense of the Porte. A number of manifestos such as those written in
1856 (in the Aromanian language) and in 1859 in Greek (Cozacovici’s
appeal signed by C. Tell, D. Bolintineanu, C. A. Rosetti, and C. Bolliac)
targeted Romanian but mainly Aromanian public opinion, inviting the
latter to make their own cultural assertion. In 1858, D. Bolintineanu and
Gr. H. Grandea founded a journal called Dîmboviţa, which turned into a
solid propaganda instrument for the Aromanian cause and pioneered the
appearance of a number of periodicals linked to this movement (in 1868,
Grandea produced the first issue of the Pindus Bee).
This concern for the Aromanian issue drew the attention of foreign
powers interested in the situation in the East. The first consular report on
the matter addressed to a European power was the work of the French
consul, Emile Poujade, in the first years of the 1860s.
In 1860, D. Cozacovici, another Aromanian protagonist of the
Aromanian reawakening, initiated the founding in Bucharest of a MacedoRomanian Committee among the members of which were such
personalities as the Goga brothers, Mihal Niculescu, Yisu Sideri, and Toma
Tricopol. Consisting exclusively of Aromanian businessmen and men of
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151
letters who were linked – either by tradition or in person – to the previous
generation of militants for Aromanian rebirth (D. Cozacovici had been a
friend of Boiagi), this Committee gave proof of the existence of a strong
Aromanian initiative, one that was far more than the artificial product of
the Romanian government and intelligentsia.
Obviously, the rebirth of Aromanian national awareness could only gain
its strength and scope from contact with Daco-Romanians as well as from
constant support by Romanian public opinion and society, and by the
Romanian State. The question is, could any other instance have offered
this support? None of the Balkan nations was willing to recognize the
ethnic and linguistic individuality of the Aromanians. The Greeks had
proved this point with a vengeance through the repressive measures taken
by the Patriarchate against the cultural works of the Central European
Aromanian émigrés. Their intolerance was also made manifest in their
relationships with the other Balkan Orthodox peoples, upon whom they
wished to impose Hellenism in the guise of the “true” faith, as well as
through religious Byzantinism. The future was to give rise to even more
painful proofs of the incompatibility of various forms of reckless Balkan
nationalism and the Aromanian wish to preserve their ethnic and linguistic
individuality. Initiated by Aromanians who lived in a Daco-Romanian
environment, the movement for national rebirth on the part of the
Aromanians was made possible by the fundamental role played by the
Romanian State in terms of propaganda and protection. Without this
external support, the Aromanians, as a distinct ethnic group, would only
have survived for a few generations. They would not have been able to
develop a culture of their own in the pressing framework of modern
nationalism in the Balkan states.
The late contact of Aromanians with North-Danubian Romanianism
lent an unmistakable meaning to their movement. Through the
reawakening of their nationality and their coming into contact with an
already established Romanian culture, Aromanians could only become
Romanians, in their turn, by adopting a literary national language slightly
different from their own dialect. This being the case, they necessarily
turned into agents of Balkan Romanianism. As a result, they came to be
looked upon in highly suspicious ways, and it was this very problem of
suspicion that made many of them give up their national ideal and resign
themselves to becoming Greeks, Serbs, Bulgarians, and Albanians. The
alternative was to become Romanian and to emigrate to Romania. Thus,
the Romanian State recovered the energies of the Aromanians that had
been on the verge of estrangement, but the price to be paid was that the
Aromanians had to resettle in Romania. That this solution occurred is
proof that both Bolintineanu and Grandea were epitomes of their own
nation. In the long run, Bălcescu’s idea was as Utopian as it was noble. Its
romantic spirit was to be frequently transgressed by the political
pragmatism of a Romanian State that was forced to face the real-life
challenges of the time.
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The Romanian State first expressed official concern for the Aromanians
in 1860, thus turning their case into a Southeastern European issue.
Costache Negri, the Romanian diplomatic envoy to Constantinople, lobbied
the Porte on behalf of the Aromanians, requesting the improvement of their
status. In 1862, Anastase Panu, a former Moldavian caimacan of
Aromanian descent, drew up a comprehensive list of Romanian claims
concerning the Aromanians. This agenda now tied the Aromanian issue to
the monasteries that were to undergo secularization according to the 1848
Proclamation of Islaz. Panu’s programme, which the State decided to take
up at a later date, included the following points: (i) Education for a number
of Aromanians in Romania; (ii) the creation of Romanian cultural
institutions in Thessaly, Macedonia, and Epirus with money obtained by
the secularization of the monasteries (12,000 ducats); (iii) the formal
lobbying of the Porte and the major protecting power (Russia) for the
carrying out of this agenda; (iv) the re-establishment of the Ohrid
archbishopric to include an Aromanian bishopric. Although attracted by
this project, Prince Cuza hesitated to implement it because he feared that
it would make the relationship with Greece even more sensitive than it
was.
Panu’s agenda was nevertheless gradually put into practice. Two
Aromanians led the efforts to establish a network of Romanian schools in
the Balkans: Dimitrie Atanasescu, the teacher and former tailor of
Târnovo, and Archimandrite Averkie (Anastasie Iaciu Buda) of the Athonite
monastery of Iviron.
Having travelled to many Ottoman Empire cities and also to Russia,
Atanasescu responded to D. Cozacovici’s 1859 appeal to create Romanian
schools in the Balkan Peninsula. As he wanted to become a schoolteacher,
he went to Bucharest, contacted C. Bolliac, and having learned the
Romanian literary language, he finished his education at the Bassarab
High School, with the support of Bolliac and his family.
In 1864, D. Cozacovici approached Prince Alexandru Ioan Cuza and
asked for help in founding a Romanian school in Târnovo. After being
granted material support to set up this school, he initiated a strong
campaign as the result of which he established other Romanian schools as
well, even though he had to combat the Greek religious authorities
supported by the Ottoman Empire.
Atanasescu, who became a writer of textbooks, a teacher, and a founder
of schools, set a lifelong example to be followed by other apostles of the
Aromanian national reawakening. He fought fiercely, suffered serious
material losses, went through severe physical and moral pains, and was
arrested and then released. Although Atanasescu’s textbooks were
confiscated and burned, he eventually achieved his ambitions. He
published textbooks with a total print-run of 21,000 copies that he
distributed free of charge to pupils. He continued to be the same
enthusiastic fighter and disseminator of national ideas until his final hour,
toward the end of the Nineteenth Century. By his activities and destiny,
Atanasescu illustrated the scope, the limitations, and the possibilities of
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153
the Aromanian national cultural rebirth. His personal initiative, that
lacked the support of a state-organized movement, was a very good
example of Aromanian spontaneity in adhering to the agenda of the FortyEighters.
Archimandrite Averkie, the second Aromanian protagonist of the
Aromanian national rebirth, showed how propitious the spiritual context
was for a national reawakening among the members of the Aromanian
clergy, following their contact with Daco-Romanians. He was born in
Avdela, but grew up in Selia, near where his uncle, Alexie Bardă
(Badralexi), lived. Having lost his father and discovering his vocation for
monasticism, Averkie, whose lay name was Anastasie Iaciu Buda, ran
away from his guardian’s house and joined the Athonite monks.
After he had become an Iviron Superior and archimandrite, and
because he was committed to the interests of the Monastery in which he
had taken his clerical vows, he was sent to Romania to resolve certain
problems concerning the Radu Vodă Monastery, a branch of the Iviron
Monastery and which was involved, along with other monasteries, in a
dispute, to be settled in court over real estate. He had already become
friendly with General Christian Tell during the post-1848 visit of the latter
to Athos as a political exile rather than as an émigré. Through his
relationship with Tell, Averkie became familiar with a number of Romanian
politicians. According to his grandson, Ioan Şomu Tomescu, during his
contacts with Romanian intellectual circles, Averkie came to realize that
there was a difference between the status of the Aromanians under
Hellenic domination and the condition of Romanians in a free country. He
expressed his admiration for the existence of a Romanian written culture.
As a result, he decied to help Aromanians develop their national existence
through a written culture of their own.
Although Averkie was committed to monasticism, could not be accused
of betraying the interests of Athos on the issue of the secularized
monasteries, he supported the founding of Romanian schools and even the
introduction of the Romanian language into Aromanian churches. It was
he who first looked after Ioan Şomu Tomescu, getting him to Bucharest
and training him to become a schoolteacher. He did the same with other
groups of Aromanian children for exactly the same purpose. He was also
the head of the Pedagogical Institute that was founded for the same reason
in Bucharest and that functioned between 1865 and 1870. Returning to
the Balkans, Averkie died after a number of conflicts with the Greek clergy
brought about by his nationalist activities. Moderately reliable family
sources and traditions claim that Averkie was poisoned by certain
protagonists of Hellenism.
Related to Averkie, Professor Ioan J. Caragiani (1929-1941), who had
settled in Iaşi, was yet another promoter of the Aromanian national
reawakening. Later, he would be involved in negotiations with the
Albanians in order to establish a common Romanian-Albanian political
autonomy in the Peninsula. Moreover, I. J. Caragiani became known for
laying the basis for Aromanian “scientific” historiography (1929-1941).
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Of the three personalities who implemented the plans drawn up by the
first leaders of the Aromanian national reawakening movement, not one of
them could be qualified in any way as a vulgar and obedient agent of the
Romanian State, despite what various Balkan historians have claimed.
Although Dimitrie Atanasescu, Archimandrite Averkie, and Ioan Caragiani
did link their movement to Romanian society and to the Romanian State,
they did so because of the logic of common origins that could not help but
become apparent as time went on. All three of them, Balkan Romanians,
they were outstanding personalities, firm in their beliefs and inspired by
an ideal for which they made many material and social sacrifices. The deep
echo of their works among Aromanians, the rapid success of the schools
that they founded, and the development of Romanian education in the
Peninsula proved that they responded to a genuine Aromanian aspiration
that had been prepared over a long period of historical development.
3. The “Aromanian Issue” between 1879 and the First World War
The goal of the next pages is to merely provide an outline of the evolution
of the Aromanian issue in a period when it was a top priority of Balkan
policy, between 1879 and 1919, when the Aromanian national rebirth
reached its peak.
The year 1879 witnessed the founding of the Bucharest Society for
Macedo-Romanian Culture. Chaired by Calinic Miclescu, the Primate of
Romania, and having Vasile Alexandrescu Urechia as its secretary, the
institution was led by a Council made up of thirty-five personalities. These
included Dimitrie and Ion Ghica, Dumitru Brătianu, C. A. Rosetti, Ion
Câmpineanu, Gh. Chiţt, Nicolae Ionescu, Christian Tell, Menelas
Ghermani, Dr. Ioan Kalinderu, D. A. Sturdza, Titu Maiorescu, Vasile
Alecsandri, and Ioan Caragiani. As it had a legal status, the Society
represented the genuine core of the Aromanian rebirth movement.
Although the Society was not a government body, it had highly unusual
responsibilities, such as the right to issue documents attesting civil status,
including certificates of nationality intended to assist Aromanians in
obtaining Romanian citizenship with comparatively reduced bureaucratic
efforts. Since it was a representative structure for the Aromanians, the
Society also guided and coordinated their education in the Romanian
language. Its initial objectives were to establish a Romanian bishopric for
Aromanians and a boarding school for young people who were studying in
Turkey, to raise funds and to subsidize the publication of Aromanian
journals and books, and to support the Church. Beginning in 1880, the
Society issued an Aromanian journal called Brotherhood for Justice, but it
could only continue this effort for one year. Still, in 1880, it published a
Macedo-Romanian album with 173 Romanian and foreign contributions to
the cause.
The fact that the Society for Macedo-Romanian Culture was founded in
1879 was not purely coincidental. Immediately after gaining full state
independence in 1878, Romania had the opportunity to freely develop a
BALKAN ROMANITY
155
foreign policy of its own and used this Society to express its legitimate
claim to play a part in the Balkans. However, this claim never implied
territorial annexations, only the strengthening of Aromanian cultural
autonomy. The Society functioned until 1948.
What were the results of the work carried out by the Society for
Macedo-Romanian Culture in co-operation with the Romanian State? The
first result was the inauguration, despite the opposition of the
Oecumenical Patriarchate, of a large network of Romanian schools
throughout the Balkan territories of the Ottoman Empire. The Patriarchate
had finally to give in to the idea, after a Vizier’s order, issued on 12
September 1879, granted the Romanians the right to open national
schools on the territory and under the protection of the Ottoman Empire.
On the eve of the Balkan Wars, there were over 100 Romanian primary
schools in the Ottoman Empire, as well as several secondary schools,
including a high school in Bitola and a trade school in Salonika. Although
these schools all required their students to pay tuition fees, they were
subsidized by the Romanian state. The Romanian budget for the year 1914
allocated 815,000 lei for the schools in Macedonia.
The Aromanian schools outside Romania were placed under the direct
authority of the Romanian State that appointed all the teachers. They were
also subordinated to a General Inspectorate. For several decades, this
Inspectorate was headed by Apostol Margarit, whose role of overwhelming
importance in the success of the struggle for the Aromanian national
reawakening was only clouded by certain examples of personal abuse on
his part as well as by his increasing dictatorial and subjective attitudes,
that were observed near the end of his career. These problems were
somewhat damaging to what had been the good results of Romanian
propaganda. Attempts to place the schools under the authority of local
ephors ultimately failed. This fact proved that the Romanian educational
work in Macedonia, where, as Take Ionescu very wisely put it, the schools
were seeking pupils, not the other way round, was forced to rely on the
guidance of the Romanian state.
The Romanian schools in the Ottoman Empire were highly successful.
They produced generations of graduates, many of whom later chose to
settle in Romania. Yet, the main problem for these schools was that of
persuading Aromanians to remain in their native environments. This goal
could not be accomplished. Many people tried to think of possible
explanations or remedies. The truth was that the only power which
tolerated the development of the Romanian education system was the
Ottoman Empire. The other Balkan nationalities displayed an open
hostility to the Romanian education system, for they were competing for
the Ottoman legacy even before the formal collapse of the Empire, ready to
partition it as best they could. The support of Romanianism could be
interpreted as engaging in open combat against all the Christian
nationalities in Macedonia.
The reasons for which the Aromanians educated in these schools
emigrated were numerous. There was, first of all, the growing hostility of
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the Balkan environment to the Aromanians. Secondly, there was the
appeal of the many professional opportunities available in Romania for
persons educated in the Romanian language. Even the disputes among the
various political factions of the Romanian parties had an impact on school
life and subsequently on the decision to emigrate or not to emigrate.
As for church organization, its progress did not match the positive
evolution of the education system. Although on 16 June 1889, the
Patriarchate finally permitted the use of the Romanian language in
churches built by Aromanians, its attitude, in principle, remained aloof, if
not hostile, either openly or through well-hidden manoeuvres. On 27 June
1891, a Sultan’s irade was promulgated, authorizing the use of the
Romanian language in Aromanian churches and the use of Romanian
books during religious services. Despite all efforts and in spite of an
attempt, in 1896, to elect Antim, who was known to support the
Aromanian cause, as the Ohrid metropolitan bishop, there were no
possibilities of establishing an Aromanian bishopric able to free the
Aromanians from the authority of the Greek church and to support their
unhindered development.
Catholic propaganda, conducted mainly by a Lazarist named Faveyral
of Bitola, was strongly directed toward the conversion of the Aromanians.
Apostol Margarit was linked to certain attempts to bring about a religious
union with Rome. However, one has to be very careful when discussing
what were in fact rumours rather than real attempts. There are, of course,
solid grounds to suspect that Margarit co-operated with France, the
Austro-Hungarian Empire, and the Holy See. He tried to rely on support
from the Western powers concerned and from their representatives in the
Ottoman world, with a certain encouragement from the Romanian
government which signed a secret treaty of alliance with Austria in 1883,
thus enabling him to accomplish his own national purposes. However,
there is no proof that Margarit was ever an Austro-Hungarian agent or a
secret agent in the service of Catholicism, as was claimed by the hostile
Greek Oecumenical Patriarchate.
As for certain attempts of Aromanians to unite with Rome according to
the example of the Asenids, the attempts in question were the sudden
expression of various political frustrations rather than a decision born out
of a deeply rooted belief. In reality, the Aromanian community was too
attached to the Orthodox tradition to make such a shift. This tradition was
a critical element in its national consciousness. Here was yet another proof
of the genuineness of a national aspiration that ran as deep as ancient
Orthodoxy.
But the most important success of Romanian diplomacy and of the
Aromanian community in the Ottoman Empire were the irades of 9 and 22
May 1905 that recognized Aromanians as a milet and gave them the right
to organize themselves into separate communities. In this way,
administrative autonomy was granted to Romanian villages that were
recognized as institutions belonging to a nationality that was different from
that of the other Balkan ethnic groups. This achievement was the work of
BALKAN ROMANITY
157
Alexandru E. Lahovary, the Romanian envoy to Constantinople, who cooperated with the envoys of other European powers, particularly that of
Germany, that was known to be on excellent terms with the Porte at that
time. The fact that the Sultan recognized the Romanian nationality in his
own empire fully consolidated the national rebirth of the Aromanians and
sealed their ethnic and linguistic identity with the Romanians who lived in
Romania. Thus, the Sultan’s act marked the formal recognition of
Aromanians as a Romanian minority and granted them a status that
would persist after the dismemberment of imperial Turkey. But this act
was also an anticipated form of revenge exacted by the Ottomans on the
Balkan peoples who later started to fight each other over their legacy.
It did not take long for the irade to be questioned. Even before its
promulgation, during confrontations focused on Macedonia, which many
states were keen on annexing, Bulgaria, Serbia, and Greece tried to attract
the Aromanians to their respective sides using both peaceful means and
terror. The various Bulgarian and Greek partisan groups (komitadgies) that
periodically raided Macedonia ultimately failed in their efforts. Especially
after the irade was promulgated, the Greeks tried to intimidate the
Aromanians through terrorist attacks, setting houses on fire and killing
schoolteachers, priests, and other notables in order to persuade them to
give up the implementation of the new law. The Aromanians
spontaneously organized themselves into armed groups that took action in
response to previous violence, but the Romanian state emphatically turned
down all their requests for weapons. King Carol I himself firmly rejected
the idea of treating together the claims of Aromanian armed groups and
those of peaceful religious groups. On the other hand, at the diplomatic
level, the Romanian government took a strong stance against these acts of
terrorism. A serious crisis affected the initially good relations between the
Greek and the Romanian governments, but fortunately, a solution was
found owing to the tactful and patriotic attitude of political leaders such as
Take Ionescu and Eleutherios Venizelos.
Happily satisfied by the recognition of both their ethnic individuality
and their cultural and administrative rights, the Aromanians were dealt a
harsh blow in the aftermath of the Balkan Wars. The August 1913 Treaty
of Bucharest sealed the establishment of national states in the European
territories of the Ottoman Empire and divided the Aromanians among
these states. Their cohesion was thus shattered, and they were left at the
mercy of various national governments that had made no formal
commitment to respect Aromanian ethnic autonomy and national rights.
The letters exchanged between the Romanian Prime Minister, Titu
Maiorescu, and leaders of the Balkan states, by which the latter promised
to observe the rights of all minorities living within their territories, did not
have the expected outcome. Of all the Balkan states, Greece alone
complied with the promises that were made, even though these were never
ratified by the Greek Parliament.
One explanation for this particular case could be the diplomatic support
that Greece received from Romania during its later conflict with Turkey. In
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Yugoslavia, not only were no new schools built, but the existing ones were
closed. This continued scarcity of Romanian schools was paralleled by a
change in their status. The schools in Greece were only tolerated by the
state and were not recognized as educational establishments having rights
equal to those of the Greek educational institutions. The Romanian
diplomas they issued were only recognized in Romania.
Regarding Aromanian relationships with the Greeks, it is necessary to
mention the context of the First World War. During that confusing period,
when Greece was divided between Ententists and supporters of the Central
Powers, the Pindus Aromanians began an insurrectional movement with
Italian support in order to establish, in the Pindus region, an Aromanian
political body, completely independent of Greece. Supported by the Society
for Macedo-Romanian Culture and by certain Romanian personalities, this
movement was exploited by other political actors to obtain recognition of
Romanian claims to the whole region of Banat. Represented at Versailles
by a delegation led by George Murnu, the Aromanians found themselves in
a no-win situation. The Utopian intention to establish an Aromanian or an
Aromanian-Albanian state was invalidated by Balkan and general realities.
The geographical characteristics of the area concerned failed to provide for
economic self-sufficiency. The Aromanians were overly dispersed
throughout this area and were surrounded by more numerous neighbours
who opposed the whole idea. Finally, there was a lack of consensus among
Pindus Aromanians in favour of such an arrangement. The frailty of the
dream of a Romanian-Albanian state could be observed in the treatment
that Albania meted out to its Romanian minority. The Albanian state did
its best to do away with all educational and religious activities carried out
by the Aromanians and quickly took the next logical step, that of
questioning the very existence of Aromanians on its territory.
One is forced to conclude, in the light of these events, that so far as the
Aromanian issue was concerned, the policy of the Romanian government
was not very substantial or forceful. However, if one considers that, as the
result of what policy there was, valuable energies were recovered while
Romania was undergoing its political maturation, one must conclude that
none of the material and spiritual efforts expended were in vain. Definite
success was registered in terms of prestige and spiritual comfort as well,
not to mention in terms also of proof of the desire of Romania for peace
and co-operation for the general goals of civilization in the Balkan
Peninsula. In sacrificing the Aromanians, Romania gave proof of its
commitment to a greater European cause. Given this situation, one can
speak more of an unavoidable fate than of voluntary or of deliberate
mistakes.
4. The Fading but Possible Metamorphosis of the “Aromanian Issue”
The years, 1919-1948, represented a period of stagnation and decline in
the evolution of the Aromanian issue. The Turkish-Greek War that ended
BALKAN ROMANITY
159
with the Treaty of Lausanne of 1923 entailed the resettlement in Greek
Macedonia of over one million Greeks from Asia Minor.
This act was a truly finishing stroke for Macedonian Aromanianism.
Aromanian shepherding was destroyed by the parcelling of the large
pastures so that all the newcomers could receive a piece of land. The latter
were protected in the practice of the liberal professions and in trade
through a process perceived as a threat by Aromanians who suddenly
faced competition. The situation being what it was, those Aromanians who
were still keen on their Romanity decided to emigrate to Romania.
With the support of the Romanian State, the Dobrudja Quadrilateral
was settled by several thousand Aromanians who were then forced to move
into Romanian Dobrudja, when the Quadrilateral was retroceded to
Bulgaria, in 1940. To this systematic movement of people, one must add
the more gradual emigration of all the Salonika and Grebena secondary
school graduates to Romania. The events of the Second World War entailed
the permanent closing of the Romanian schools and churches, while the
issue of the possessions of the Romanian state was settled in the 1950s.
A marginal, yet tragic, episode was the reckless attempt of a right wing
Aromanian group to establish an Aromanian “principality” in the Pindus
region, under the protection of the Axis powers. Rejected by the Romanian
government headed by General Ion Antonescu, but blatantly supported by
the Iron Guard, this unsuccessful attempt cast serious suspicions over the
Aromanians and their loyalty to the Greek state. Certain Greek circles took
advantage of this situation to identify any Aromanian national assertion as
a fascist manifestation, going so far as to take unjustified, excessive, and
non-differentiated reprisals against the Aromanian people. Today these
tensions seem to have subsided.
The reopening of the Aromanian issue was recently initiated by certain
groups of extremely active Aromanian émigrés in Western Europe. For the
time being, it is too early to venture an opinion as to these attempts.
However, it is noticeable that the goal of these efforts is different from
earlier efforts. These partisans insist upon the separateness of Aromanians
in regard to the Romanian state and its citizens. To them, Aromanians are
ethnically different from Romanians, and they view the Aromanian dialect
as a separate language.
These points-of-view, however, are not innovations derived from
accurate study. Rather, they are dictated by political opportunism. In
major national issues, such distractions can only be detrimental. At any
rate, they are out of place.
The current attempts of Greek Aromanians to assert their ethnic
individuality within the Greek state and culture seem to be more
interesting. If resorting to equally unlikely historical and linguistic theories,
they are proving, through the spontaneous and organic character of their
manifestations, which are taking place along the line of an uninterrupted
tradition, that to this day Aromanian Romanity represents a surprisingly
strong potential for spiritual suggestions and virtuality. Only the future
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will tell whether this movement represents a source of ethnographic
oddities or considerably more.
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V. Landmarks of Christianity-Related Balkan
Folk Traditions
SABINA ISPAS
A. THE CONCEPT OF FOLKLORE (POPULAR CULTURE)
An objective perspective on contemporary culture cannot afford to overlook
a specific expressive form, usually referred to as folklore, traditional
culture, or popular culture. Part and parcel of the cultural legacy of
mankind, folklore incorporates group or individual creation developed on
traditional grounds and oriented in keeping with the group. At the same
time, it reflects various community aspirations as adequate expressions of
their cultural and social identities. Standards and values are conveyed
orally, by imitation or other means. Folklore is conveyed by language,
literature, music, dances, games, mythology, rituals, customs, beliefs,
trades, architecture, etc. To all this, a number of legal and behavioural
norms can be added. They act with a variable weight, but they come
together in predominant percentages and include orality, anonymity,
collective character, variability, and syncretism.
Folklore turns out to be a traditional and interpersonal knowledge
system that exists at the above-mentioned level when an object of
information, that is included in the collective knowledge structure, is
processed at the expressive level through a singular act of performance
and creation. As it consists of a body of creative forms, of physical gesture,
and of oral and intellectual expression, folklore relies on tradition, but not
exclusively so.
In contemporary society, folklore includes both tradition as a cultural
legacy and innovation as springing from the needs of the modern world. It
does not simply belong to non-literate societies, nor does it consist of
tradition alone. Tradition is a socially tested and accepted norm that only
exists to the extent of daily needs. A product created by an individual
turns into folklore provided the community accepts it and conveys it
further. The performance of a folkloric fact is creation and at the same
time, it bears the print of uniqueness, but the creative performer does not
have any rights of paternity over his or her products, for the community
claims these rights. Each folkloric community comes up with its own
degree of innovation.
Rituals, which, as they touch upon the sacred, can only be used and
performed within certain patterns with a normative value and role, are the
exception to this rule. Ritual innovation – closely linked to the system of
beliefs, practices, and customs – is possible and manifests itself in large
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time and space units which include information and model-conveying
throughout several generations. Innovation, however, acts slowly, is
determined by profound changes at the level of mentality, and is directly
coordinated by religious belief. A major innovation is triggered by a change
of role which, in its turn, is historically and socially determined and guided
by the needs of the group.
The conveyance of the expressive forms through which folklore actually
works is absorbed rather than learned, and developed rather than
invented. At the same time, it is unitary and provides distinction and
individuality to the consumer group. Folklore manifests itself in “primitive”
and “advanced” societies, in rural and in urban areas, and in subordinate
and dominant groups. Creation, recreation, and learning techniques are
distinguished from extra-folkloric forms. The existence of a folkloric
product is linked to the moment of performance, since there is no folkloric
product in a natural form to be found outside this framework. Genuine
folklore only exists in a specific context. Folkloric reproductions in any
other contexts than those immediately and operationally determined
transform folklore as such into folklore as a topic for scientific research,
folklore as a curricular subject, folklore as entertainment and special
artistic information, and folklore as a source of inspiration and processing.
In none of these situations does folklore work as such, becoming instead a
cultural merchandise used for purposes other than its own.
Researchers gave up the idea of discussing the category vaguely
designated as “the people”, when debating the subject of folkloric creation,
focusing instead on special groups that are determined by a certain status
that they might have, i.e., occupation, age, sex, place of origin, religion,
ethnic background, etc. Folklore is a vital element in the life of each
member of a given group, even though no member personally knows all
the other members of the group. They are kept together by a common
background and a certain tradition, as well as by common values, norms,
and symbols. At the same time, folklore acts as an element of unity at
group level in that it provides identity landmarks and leads the group
toward a common destiny.
In order to understand folklore, it is necessary not only to stick to the
traditional (literary, musical, or choral) texts, but also to try to grasp the
system through which they are used and controlled. This system does not
lie in the given folklore itself, but among the people who produce it and put
it to good use. Folklore is the living culture in an ascending dynamics, in
terms of the evolution, enrichment, and improvement of expressive forms,
in keeping with individual and group needs and determined by general
social, political, and cultural conditions. It is part and parcel of social,
economic, and political values. For this reason, folklore is economically,
politically, and culturally significant, having a part to play in the history of
each people and a well-defined place in contemporary history.
Folklore is a communicative process rather than an aggregate of facts. It
is a series of phenomena, the mere existence of which implies the idea of
successive transformation, change, and evolution. Thus, the folkloric
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phenomenon cannot be separated from its historical dimension. This
process has a twofold perspective: (i) that of its existence throughout
history, by means of the preservation of certain expressive structures and
forms, of an “inventory” of structures, formulae, and meanings making up
a basic stock, shared by a group with a precise and coherent identity, used
each and every time in keeping with specific needs and capable of being
enriched with new forms and structures whenever various situations entail
new needs; (ii) that of the straight and specific process in itself, the actual
birth of the product, viewed as a unique, unrepeatable, and irreversible
act. The value of the past is subordinated to the needs of the contemporary
moment. By folklore, one does not mean what is older or more developed,
but merely the lore, i.e., a “science”, that is directly linked to the cultural
identity and to the social requirements of a community (S. Ispas, 1997).
At first, the meaning of the term, folklore, was ambivalent and
designated both the phenomenon and the discipline that dealt with it, later
called folkloristics, and currently sharing a highly complex field of research
with ethnography, ethnology, ethnomusicology, ethnochoreology, and
cultural anthropology, while interfacing with sociology, theology, and other
socio-humanistic disciplines, as well. Germans still use the term,
volkskunde. The Romanic peoples speak of popular traditions, and the
Greeks refer to laography. Throughout the world, however, nobody
anymore considers the traditional sphere to be the predominant feature of
folklore. A modern, dynamic, and process-linked vision prevails in all the
schools dealing with this field, in Eastern Europe. In humanist studies,
each period is marked by the addition of new meanings as well as by
particularities of interpretation of the central concepts. These are used as
strategic terminology in a logically overlapping series of strata resulting
from the information acquired from successive research projects.
The first volume of the Standard Dictionary of Folklore, Mythology, and
Legends (1940) includes no fewer than twenty-one definitions of folklore.
Earlier, in 1936, Pierre Saint-Yves published in Paris his Manuel de
Folklore, in the pages of which he made a number of remarks, the current
relevance of which cannot be questioned:
Folklore is the science of traditional culture in the popular
environments of the “civilized countries” and mainly in popular
environments. In reality, studies of folklore ought to be assigned to
different experts: traditional language and literature, to philologists;
the whole field of general, philosophical, and religious ideas,
including the customs directly inspired by them, to philosophers;
popular sciences, to scientists; popular arts and occupations, to
technicians.
One should keep in mind the complex vision of this so-called popular
culture or folklore, which includes all the compartments of human
existence, as well as its entire spiritual and material creation. By its very
complexity, such a vision goes beyond the investigative capacity of only
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one specialization. The ways in which both this phenomenon and society
as a whole have become diversified currently require that all those who
wish to study oral cultures have very thorough and insightful
qualifications. The author of this study believes that certain forms of
contemporary audio-visual culture come very close to being forms of
folklore. Even written and oral mass media forms are folklore to the extent
that variations occur. The terms, tradition and folklore, overlap. “[...]
Folklore reflects the worldview of different folk groups and strengthens the
identity of these groups” (S. Ispas, 1997, p. 20).
Rural area or village folklore is just one part of the folklore of an ethnic
group and is usually more conservative, coherent, and balanced, than
other parts. It displays an aspect of popular culture that offers models
having a distinct value for given communities. The community expresses
itself in a cognitive and affective way in regard to other people, the
environment, and the universe. The vision that such a community has of
the outside accounts for the attitudes and skills which determine the
actions of its inhabitants. The vision of the universe generally appears as a
projection of immediate economic circumstances. A tension is set up
between the intellect and the emotional that guides the vision of the world.
Societal identity takes shape through the principal symbols, beliefs,
signs, and traditions that give meaning to the coexistence of members of
groups and enable the latter to recognize their own members from among
masses of individuals. Folklore expresses the cultural identity of a family
as well as that of occupational, national, religious, ethnic, age, and sexdetermined groupings. It enables the establishment of links among groups
with similar affinities. An identity implies a “merging” of territory,
language, and people that is legitimized through a genealogy and a
territory conceptualized as such. If they are lost, identity is weakened, and
an irreversible alienation takes place.
In order to remake a local identity, for instance, a peasant identity, it is
necessary to begin by remaking individual identity. The expressive forms of
folklore - singing, dancing, storytelling, ritual performances, religious
practice, etc. – bring the group together under the sign of a common
destiny. Thus, identity becomes a justification for individual social
existence. Identity in this sense must be perceived as a psychological and
social structure. At the same time, it must provide security by setting and
resetting the grounds for the coordinates of the initial state of the group.
International political influences, religion, and language shape ethnic
identity. Increases in individual self-awareness are determined by the
progress of social development. Individual identity develops as a result of
the capacity of individuals to actively structure their knowledge and
experience in relation to their personal ideals, conflicts, etc. Some experts
claim that the “man of the future” will be “frail” because he or she will have
only a very small number of identity landmarks. Group and individual
identities undergo a swift process of redefinition and restructuring owing
to the contemporary diversification of society at all levels. On the one
hand, folklore as a system of systems is subject to an intense and very
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diverse aggression, and on the other hand, it is viewed as a pillar of
identity definition that provides coherence and security for groups
undergoing transformation.
All of the above provide yet another explanation for the complex
situation of Southeastern Europe. In this region, totalitarian mind sets of
varying depths and intensities, in keeping with the totalitarian forms and
structures at work in each and every state, encountered democratic mind
sets developed through and from various traditions, including traditions of
ownership (i.e., those of Greece, Turkey, etc).
During the communist era, some states opted for a relative
secularization of folkloric structures through a complete ban on religious
practices. Others secularized these structures by introducing a number of
pseudo-sacred festive-ceremonial forms, while still others distorted all of
the profound meanings that their folklore might have had, using it on
festive occasions as a kind of pseudo-entertainment, good for shows or
contests. Nevertheless, in none of the countries concerned was the state
leadership able to completely destroy the sacred basis of oral culture.
Each of these oral culture types currently has several forms of
organization. Group and individual identities are being restructured
accordingly. Indeed, in some cases, the revitalization and the recapitalization of traditional folkloric models are being excessively guided
and coordinated. Fragments of old identities, most of them derived from
rural areas, are meeting new structures determined by different socioeconomic processes. It is as much necessary to have a correct knowledge
of traditional forms and their true meanings as it is to have a correct
perception of the identity landmarks of the neighbouring cultural
communities with which contacts are being re-established following half a
century of estrangement.
The resumption of movement along old trade routes and the
revigoration of various tourist itineraries, particularly in Turkey, Greece,
and Israel, have very clear meanings. Folkloric culture suggests answers to
present-day anxieties. This type of cultural contact sets the basis for
models that will take shape in legendary continental areas that seemingly
revived old, if not ancient, political-administrative structures.
This contemporary age has given rise to the prerequisites for an ethnic
crisis occurring in the guise of socio-cultural identity. What experts call
“senseless identity” frequently appears as an irrational ritualistic element,
guiding daily actions, or as a certain type of superficial festiveness.
Folkloric creation is the result of collaboration between system
components (cultural patterns, models, etc.) and the capacity of the
individual to use them according to a model that is guided by group needs,
space, time, etc.
The individual creator and carrier of folklore is the product of all the
educational elements that have contributed to his or her appearance: his
or her social group, his or her family, his or her folkloric or extra-folkloric
institutions, his or her personal assimilation, and his or her capacity for
reproduction and creation. An impoverished community that is deprived of
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its individual creative capacities loses its individuality, becomes alienated,
and runs the risk of dissolution. The traditional forms in which specific
folk creation appears are frail and can easily be lost. Once the forms of
folklore enter a passive phase, they can only be updated in parallel with a
change of role, context, and performer-creator. Therefore, it is vital to be
familiar with these specific folk forms because they belong to the
characteristic structure of the group, are part and parcel of its identity,
and exist as the result of its shared history. Folklore needs to be studied in
the same way in which an individual studies and learns about the history,
the language, and the geography of a country. It should also, however, be
approached in a universalistic framework, through the history, the
geography, and even the languages of its neighbours.
There are two large functional groups: the ritual and the non-ritual.
Ritual was dominant from the very beginning of folkloric creation, being
marked by the element of collective lyricism. The latter includes rituals
linked to the calendar cycle with fixed or mobile dates and rituals linked to
the family life cycle. The attitude of the community toward the observance
and the preservation of certain genres or species is differentiated according
to the importance granted to individual existence and circumstances.
Funeral rituals, as an example, are better preserved than other rituals
owing to the difficulty of eliminating fear when faced with the mystery of
death, something common to most people, irrespective of social category,
education, and religion. The system of customs that is linked to funerals
played (and still plays) a critical role in the balancing of a liminal situation,
both at sacred and at social levels. It is also linked to the bivalent
protection of the community of the living and of the new state with which
the deceased has to cope, according to traditional beliefs and mentalities.
Various practices related to births and christenings are preserved out of
a fear, that is sometimes unacknowledged and may even be unconscious,
that the child’s future might be jeopardized were they to be disregarded. In
moments of acute crisis, the community rediscovers protective practices
which, while defying explanation, retain the strictly ritual features for
which they were created, as in the case of disease prevention and healing
practices, reactions to long periods of drought, etc.
The loss of the ritual character of some of the genres or species could be
actively perceived in Southeastern European communities, in the
aftermath of the First World War, owing to the new contacts that they had
made and to the access that they had gained to a new level of
institutionalized culture that began to permeate the inhabitants of rural
areas as an offshoot of the Westernization processes that had occurred in
towns. These processes varied, depending on the political situation in each
country and local traditions as shaped by history. One of the unifying
factors was the dominance of Orthodoxy, which, in many respects, offered
a relatively unitary basis for the setting of mentalities. Internal functional
mutations began to take place in a number of ritual or even non-ritual
species, according to their specific inner laws.
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After the Second World War, parts of the traditional cultures in the
region experienced a special type of aggression (changes in the structure of
private ownership, a ban on certain group activities and meetings,
materialistic-atheistic education, the development of ample and staged
amateur movements), while the structures of traditional genres were
undermined and their specificity, distorted. Artificial festiveness eroded the
basis of genuine folklore. To these traumas, one can add examples of
biased interpretation and, frequently, of the lack of accurate, objective, and
modern information about folkloric phenomena.
The latter situation induced certain experts to change their views
regarding traditional culture from a theoretical standpoint, coming to
identify a mixture of mythological elements, a sum of ancient and
unchanged remains, and to strenuously preserve a “primitivism” in ways
that had become obsolete much earlier in other European regions. The
dynamic, renewable aspect of folklore, as well as its real functionalism,
came implicitly to move in increasingly secular or lay directions, without
any explanation as to how they could possibly have survived in a strange
guise, to say the least, i.e., that of lay rituals. It is necessary, once again, to
reiterate the need to distinguish between genuine folklore and folklore
turned into consumer goods or shows.
The traditional models and structures that are the concern of various
experts and are viewed as landmarks of traditional genuine folklore
crystallized, in most cases, during the medieval period, being obviously
marked by the specific nature of each area and folkloric region, as well as
of each province, land, or particular ethnic group. Without ignoring the
previously mentioned functional character of folk creation, and taking into
account (according to its true value) the contribution of innovation to the
birth of a product of folklore, one can conclude that these systems of
folklore, known to have come into being during the Middle Ages, worked
and will continue to work as aesthetic, functional, and value-related
standards.
The invasion of modern technology, which, according to some
observers, follows a folkloric pattern, quite often presents itself as a kind of
threat to traditional folkloric structures. Folklore and technology represent
two cultural worlds that find themselves in relative conflict. The impact of
industrialized culture conveyed through the media gradually erodes
folklore. Given the new sophisticated broadcasting technologies, the
present-day “information siege” dramatically varies from what occurred
during the first half of the Twentieth Century and during previous
centuries. In Europe and in the Middle East, with which Southeastern
Europe has had frequent contacts, isolated cultural areas no longer exist.
Today, broadcasts of information often occur simultaneously over wide
geographical areas and sometimes over the whole planet. Thus, a regional
model in regard to the sending of information has evolved and has given
rise to folkloric models the values of which are universal. The widespread
use of radio, television, recordings, video-cassettes, modern art, and the
requirements of often-cosmopolitan fashion have tended to erode
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traditional cultures and folklore. Unassimilated elements frequently breed
valueless hybrids that permeate a wide area for a certain period.
Traditional communities had their own institutions, which regulated
individual and group existence: the system of festivals, the legal norms, the
kinship system, male and female age sets, etc. One institution that had a
decisive authority was the Church. The authority of the Byzantine-rite
Orthodox Church in the cultural perimeter with which this study is
concerned is one of the important, basic factors in the creation of
Southeastern European systems of folklore. The folklorization of Christian
precepts and dogmas turned into constitutive parts of oral culture. They
led to the melting down of theological and philosophical information, along
with elements derived from paleo-Christian times, both existing as
intrinsic elements in folkloric culture, of which the individual imbued with
folklore is no longer aware. From this point on, a false parallel has evolved
between folkloric culture and the official or dominant religious structure in
a given community. The folkloric phenomenon is the result of all the
factors that act upon the human spirit and express the needs of the group.
B. SPACE AND TIME: SACRED AND SECULAR
The sacred is that special and well-delimited element in the vicinity of
which the profane permanently lie. The existence of a cosmos free of the
sacred is a recent idea in the history of mentalities. The sacred is perceived
as a reality distinguishing itself from the surrounding nature. It is marked
by hierophanticism and implies feelings of fear, fascination, mystery, and
majesty. Religious man does not perceive space and time as being
homogeneous. From the standpoint of religious thinking, the sacred
involves bans and commitments that are considered to be essential for
human existence. Obligations and bans do not take into account either
rational explanations, technological breakthroughs, or even social
institutions.
Through the sacred, the human being becomes a protected, directed,
and hopeful entity. He or she uses the sacred to come to terms with the
wish, the power, and the knowledge on “the other side” of existence. By
means of the sacred, he or she integrates him- or herself into the universe
and overcomes his or her state of anomie. At the same time, the human
being discovers certain rules, enjoying both the revealing of rites and the
conveying of myths and transcendent information. Sacred time and space
are endowed with one special quality, that of power. Inside the sacred, the
human being can contact the divine and transcend the profane. All sacred
forms are hierophantic. When the sacred comes down, space and time
detach themselves from daily life and the environment and acquire special
qualities. Sacred space can become holy space having variable size and
layout. It ranges from the icon in the corner of a room, from the hearth or
the table on which lies the knot-shaped loaf of bread (colac), the funeral
wheat porridge (colivă), the holy water (aghiasmă), etc., to the doorstep
adorned with plants having protective powers, the field marked by the
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furrow of a plough, the church viewed as a sanctuary, the graveyard
considered as a temple, and even goes so far as including entire holy cities:
Jerusalem, Mecca, etc.
Human existence is linked to space and time viewed as two coordinates
regulating not only the individual or the group life, but also the form, the
use, and the value of all their material (and spiritual) goods. Perceptions of
space and time relate globally to human experience and need to be settled
according to axiological, astronomical, administrative, and religious
criteria. Space and time are accepted in keeping with predetermined or
combined criteria having to do with the places of action of the sacred or
the daily secular. In traditional (folkloric) systems, space and time bear the
print of religious signs and marks meant to protect and to warrant the
presence of the sacred. Traditional society could not live outside the sacred
without damaging its integrity and its very being as a whole. In most of
Southeastern Europe, the time axis of work is delimited by the
embodiment of God and the birth of Jesus. For a smaller number of
communities, sacred time and space are related to the personality of
Mohammed.
Time prevails over space, as the marking of sacred places or of
favourable spots for human life is determined by certain moments in time
(for instance, the choice of a place upon which to build a house may be
influenced by the progress of daytime or night-time rituals). Time is
measured by the use of data made available by the measurement of space,
mainly by means of astronomical observation and research. The sun, the
moon, the stars, the shifts from day and night are landmarks according to
which the life of humankind in traditional society is organized. From a
given perspective, it is possible to assert that the systems of traditions and
customs, as well as the ideas contained in texts, particularly the
components of rituals – but even those that are not linked to rituals –
constitute a way of replicating in a secular manner that which is
considered in religious services and books (including non-Christian ones).
“Three things appear to distinguish man from all other living creatures:
the systematic making of tools, the use of abstract language, and
religion”(W. A. Lessa and E. A. Vogt, 1965). A veritable time code for
communication among the members of a community is created. It is the
same for everybody and, as in the case of other codes, the food code, the
ownership handing code, the vegetal value code, etc., should not be
infringed. Given the links that the time code establishes between the sky,
the earth, and history, the calendar becomes a sort of “breviary of profane
and religious liturgies”, a depository of a gradually expanding collective
memory to which people add their own individual histories. The religious
angle from which each community perceives existence is therefore a
fundamental mark in the assessment of space and time values. For
Christians, time was created when the world was created: “Mundus non
factus est tempore, sed cum tempore”, to quote St. Augustine.
The Christian era, also known as the common or the modern era, was
introduced and calculated, in the Sixth Century, by the monk, Dionysus
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Exiguous (the Little), born in Scythia Minor. He counted the years from the
birth of Jesus. Year I was the year of redemption or the year of
embodiment. The current Western calendar was established by an
Alexandrian named Sosigenes and was known as the Julian Calendar.
Adjustments to this calendar through the Gregorian reform were gradually
made (between the Sixteenth and the Eighteenth Centuries) in Roman
Catholic and Protestant countries.
The “new style” was officially adopted in the civil organization of
predominantly Orthodox states in the Twentieth Century: Bulgaria and
Russia in 1918, Serbia and Romania in 1919, Greece in 1923. The 1923
Constantinople Inter-Orthodox Congress opted for a calendar adjustment
in the other Orthodox Churches as well. A successive switch to this
calendar was undertaken by the Constantinople Oecumenical
Patriarchate, the Greek and Albanian Churches, the Cypriot Church, the
Polish Orthodox Church, the Antioch Oecumenical Patriarchate, the
Romanian Orthodox Church, the Oecumenical Patriarchate of Alexandria
(1928), the Czech and the Slovak Orthodox Metropolitan Seat, the Finnish
Orthodox Church, and the Bulgarian Orthodox Church (1968). The
Russian and Serbian Orthodox Churches, the Jerusalem Oecumenical
Patriarchate, and the Monastic Republic of Mount Athos continue to
observe the old style. Easter and all the mobile church holy days related to
Easter are still celebrated according to the old calendar, the same as in the
case of the churches that retained the unrevised Julian calendar.
According to Sosigenes’s calendar, the New Year began on 1 March.
Later, 1 January was chosen as the start of the New Civil Year, the start of
the New Religious Year being set at 1 September, a date that coincided
meaningfully with the start of the Jewish civil year, which, according to the
tradition of the Old Law, marked the beginning of the creation of the world.
Tradition also claims that it was on this day that Jesus began his public
work. The so-called Byzantine, Constantinople, or Adam’s era was used as
early as the Seventh Century B.C. in the Byzantine chancellery, later being
adopted by South-Danubian Slavs and Russians, and also being utilized in
the Romanian territories until the Eighteenth Century. In the Dodecanese
Islands, 31 August still marks “the end of the year”, while 1 September
marks “the first day of the new year” (G. A. Megas, 1963). The RomanCatholic Church consecrates the religious New Year on the first Sunday
following 30 November as Advent Sunday.
Calendar structure is the organizational basis for the so-called popular
calendar customs cycle, regulating the whole life and work of traditional
communities. This system also regulates the customs surrounding the
family life cycle the liminal moments and commemorations of moments of
which are directed by the calendar system. Thus, marriages can only take
place in certain periods, always before or after the main religious holy days
(Easter, Christmas, St. Peter and St. Paul, St. Mary), as well as before or
after the fasting days of the week. For this reason, the traditional days for
weddings are Saturday and Sunday.
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The commemoration of the dead also takes place according to the
religious calendar. It is linked to specific moments falling before or after
the principal holy days: a week before the start of the Easter holy week, all
Saturdays during Lent, Maundy Thursday, and Whitsunday. Prayers for
the dead are also offered on 7 November and one week before Christmas,
both on fixed dates.
The celebration of one’s name day, traditionally in the Orthodox world
of Southeastern Europe, that of a saint in the Christian calendar, was a
personal holiday. Birthday celebrations have only recently been accepted
in traditional communities.
The main concern of a traditional community was to prevent wicked
and devilish forces from entering its living space with the purpose of
destroying material goods or of committing physical or psychological
aggression against community members. This necessity explains the need
to extend the sacred into daily space and time.
The start of the religious year on 1 September is marked by the
commemoration of St. Simeon Stylites. According to popular belief, the
earth is supported by four pillars (four fish or four trees) which are gnawed
by the Devil throughout the year. Only on Christmas Eve or on the night
before Easter are the trunks holding the earth able to become intact again,
for one more year. According to a Greek belief, those who gnaw the earthsupporting trees are the kallikantzaroi. They will only cease their activity
when Jesus is born, thus saving the earth from utter collapse.
A complex work of criticism has analyzed the folk narratives circulating
throughout Southeastern Europe associating the image of the worldsupporting tree trunks with pillars. The latter, in turn, have been
associated with the old symbology of the Cross.
In the folk calendar, the temporal dimension of the year is marked by
two moments commemorating two military saints and martyrs belonging
to the start of the Fourth Century: St. George and St. Demetrios. For the
whole of Southeastern Europe, these two dates are actual “year markers”.
Romanians claim that the two saints hold “the keys of time”, and that on
these dates deals between ploughmen and stock raisers can be made or
unmade. For cattle- (and especially sheep-) raising communities, the
pastoral season starts on St. George’s Day and finishes on St. Demetrios’s Day.
In-between these dates, the shepherds and their flocks go up into the
mountains, and pens are built. The shepherds and the flocks remain in the
mountains until autumn. Then, the pens are dismantled, and the
shepherds and their flocks come down and prepare for winter.
On St. George’s Day, in Romania, tradition calls for the ritual sacrifice
of a lamb. At the same time, the Saint himself is honoured by specific rites
called rugi or nedei (bonfires). On this day, Romanians, Bulgarians, and
Greeks adorn their gates, windows, and pathways with green branches;
young people “sit in swings”; and all sorts of obviously ritual dances are
performed. Bulgarians and Greeks accompany their dances and other
rituals by narrative songs having a ritual role. A narrative ritual song
about St. George’s struggle with the dragon is sung during a dance led by
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the eldest man in the village. The freeing of the princess and the throwing
of water are also evoked. Horse races are organized in other regions.
Romanians believe that during the night of this Saint’s day, treasures are
set on fire; however, these treasures can be discovered with the help of fern
flowers that bloom particularly for this occasion.
The way in which this holy day is associated with a revived vegetable
ceremony is typical of Southeastern European communities. Certain Greek
towns and villages still commemorate the New Year on 1 September, for
the month of September is for them, as well as for Romanians, the “vintage
month” or “the month of the Cross” (G. A. Megas, 1963). Local legends say,
that on this day, the Archangel writes down the names of those who are to
die during the coming year. This tradition can be linked to a frequently
identified European motif, the origin of which lies in popular accounts,
namely the “archangel and monk” motif.
During this month, the agricultural motif is actively present in various
rituals: plates filled with seeds are sent to the local church for blessing by
the priest; the last sheaf of wheat from the harvest is hung on a house
beam. Houses, in turn, are adorned with flower garlands. In some cases, in
Greece, garlands made of flowers are thrown into the sea. Moreover, gifts
are given to children, godfathers, and parents. It is clear that, until very
recently, folk communities were very much aware of the religious new year.
In exchange, a common holiday, associated with the vintage holiday, was
the Day of the Cross, celebrated through full fasting in all communities.
The ban on food and work is typical of many rituals and is a common
practice in a number of religions. These bans make contact with the sacred
easier and create the prerequisite for hierophanticism. Thus, there are
insular villages in Greece in which such phrases as the following are
heard: “On the day of the Cross stay in... port, cross the sails, and tie the
ropes”, or “On the day of the Cross stay in... port, but on St. George’s Day
get up and set out to sea” (G. A. Megas, 1963, p. 156).
While Romanians use sweet basil as a sacred and protective plant on
Epiphany Day, in some Greek villages sweet basil branches are distributed
in memory of a still circulating legend according to which a sweet basil
bush appeared at the place where the cross was found. At about the same
time, people started to make wine, and the vineyard, along with the vines
themselves and the wine, were symbolically associated with the Eucharist.
Traditionally, everywhere in Southeastern Europe, women are prohibited
from crushing grapes, this task being reserved exclusively to men.
The vegetal code still marks folk practices that are focused on the ways
in which wheat is transformed into dough and is then baked in a variety of
forms.
Wheat and dough symbology is deeply rooted in Southeastern Europe
and in the culture of the Eastern Mediterranean. The taking over and the
resemantization of this symbology in Eastern Christianity occurred very
early. Good evidence in this respect can be found in St. Augustine’s
Confessions, which speak about the way in which certain traditions
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183
belonging strictly to Eastern Christianity were banned by Bishop Ambrose
of Milan. When St. Monica, St. Augustine’s mother,
came up to the saints’ graves and, as was the custom in Africa,
brought the broth, the bread, and the wine, she was stopped by the
gatekeeper, and when she found out it was the bishop who set this
ban, she piously followed it in submission [...] after she brought a
basketful of festive food for pretasting and sharing, she did not pour
more than one tiny glass of wine prepared to her taste, mild enough,
to make the gesture of dignity, and if it were the graves of the
deceased that had to be honoured in this way, she would take that
single present – not only thinned out with a lot of water, but even
very slightly warm (similar to the Eucharist...) – by small mouthfuls,
as it was piety she sought rather than pleasure.
Mention is made of the “basketful of fruits of the earth” which used to
be taken to the graves of martyrs. This offering recalls not only those of the
Greco-Roman world, but even the sacrifices performed in the Judaic
monotheistic creed which used to require both animal and vegetal
sacrifices, among which wheat dough, barley, and oil played very
important roles. The identification of wheat with the body of Jesus is easily
recognized in almost all the rites that include the giving of alms (the case of
Romanians, Bulgarians, Greeks, Serbs, and Russians) and where wheat is
present either as gruel – the funeral wheat porridge (colivă) – or as
leavened dough – plain or knot-shaped bread.
Some of the first and oldest evidence about wheat belong to prehistory
and to the civilizations of the Middle and the Near East. In the Middle East,
the growing of wheat took place in the river valleys, particularly in the
Tigris and the Euphrates Valleys, as well as along the Nile Valley in Egypt.
Sites dating back to the year 1000 B.C. or the year 500 A.D. have been
registered in the Danube Valley, in the British Isles, and in Northern
Scandinavia. Wheat is associated with rituals in very early periods.
Information is available about its presence in worship services for Demeter,
Ceres, Osiris, etc. Wheat can be found in several ceremonial and ritual
forms, either as boiled and germinated grain, or processed as dough,
which is next boiled or baked.
The unprocessed wheat that has not been ground, kneaded, etc. is the
vegetal substance that is the most sacred. Its use is frequently found in
calendar cycle rituals, but is also known to appear on matrimonial
occasions, as, for instance, when sheaves of wheat are woven into the
bridal wreath, as customary in Romania. Wheat seeds are prepared for
germination on St. Andrew’s or St. Nicholas’s eve and are used as sacred
plants with a ceremonial role during meals on Christmas and New Year’s
day. Vegetal revival is the sign and the prefiguration of ordinary life and
even of eternal life given to people when the Messianic predictions come
true. In certain rural regions, pieces of straw are placed on the table upon
which the knot-shaped bread, a ritual food, is also placed. Green wheat
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sheaves are woven into wreathes prepared for Midsummer’s Day, on 24
June (when both the summer solstice and St. John’s Day are celebrated).
In Romanian villages, on Midsummer’s Day, the Drăgaica is chosen
from among the most beautiful and deserving of young girls. She is
dressed and adorned as if she were a bride and is later taken to the green
wheat fields by a procession of people who sing and dance. In Greece,
Macedonia, Thrace, and Eastern Rumelia, the peasants choose the
Kalinitsa. Elected from among the most beautiful of young girls in the
neighbourhood, the Kalinitsa is in her turn dressed as a bride, has a flower
garland placed around her neck and, accompanied by a procession of girls
and boys, walks in a procession around the village, singing and dancing:
My beautiful Kalinitsa,
My young bride,
My mother sent me to the well for water
For cool water
To water the sweet basil.
(in, G. A. Megas, 1963, p. 36).
The Romanian version of the Drăgaica ritual is more explicitly linked to
vegetal and fertility rituals and only retains a ban on getting close to the
water to remind participants of a possible connection with an aquatic spirit
(“Drăgaica claims a human head”; “do not bathe on the day of the
Drăgaica”). The Romanian text is explicitly linked to the green fields of
wheat and can be associated with the fetching of the barley sheaf on the
second day of the Mosaic Easter, a gift dedicated to God and marking the
moment exactly seven weeks before the Holiday of the Fifty.
The latter connection is made because in Southeastern Europe, 24
June is associated with the celebration of the birth of St. John the Baptist,
whose personality captured the borderline between the Old Law and the
New Law, the symbolism of purifying and resurrecting water (eternal life is
given to the newborn “out of water and spirit”), the crossroads of time (the
celebrations linked to his name divide the year into its two halves), and the
consent granted to the new monotheistic religious direction.
The Romanian text in Dobrudja, where the Drăgaica ritual is still
performed, as also in the Buzău region, states the following:
Jump up, Drăgaica, jump!
Drăgăicuţele!
There’s the summer of all riches,
With a wreath of ripe gold ears.
Jump up, Drăgaica, jump!
Cut away the golden ears,
Ears of rich and plenty [...].
(in, Ovidiu Bîrlea, 1983).
Perhaps, in a broader context, mention should be made of the habit of
certain women in Serres, Greece, who march in procession through their
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185
villages after having placed a plate with germinated barley or lentils on the
Epitaph, next to the crucified Jesus and the censer.
It is useful to recall some information about the old Mosaic cult, for
there seems to be a very close link between the practices and the meanings
of the sacrificial acts of that period and some of the folk traditions and
practices of the Orthodox area that are deeply rooted in the paleoChristian age, when certain Judaic prescriptions were still being observed.
The three great Judaic holidays, Passover, the Holiday of the Fifty, and the
Holiday of the Tents, which commemorate events from the history of the
entry of the Jews into the Holy Land, are at the same time linked to certain
aspects of agricultural labour: the beginning and the end of reaping and
the start of harvesting. All these meanings foreshadow the road to
Redemption and underline events presented in the New Testament and
announcing Messianic salvation.
By comparison with the tradition of animal sacrifice in old Judaic
practice, what was preserved and abstracted was the practice, as well as
the themes, related to bloodless sacrifices. The materials for bloodless
sacrifices were wheat and barley sheaves, various grains, oil, wine, bread
kneaded from “clean” wheat flour and baked in an oven, on the griddle, or
in a clay pot. (This bread was unleavened, except for the bread baked for
the Holiday of the Fifty and the Reconciliation sacrifice, which was
leavened, wherefrom the current Orthodox tradition of leavened dough was
preserved, given that, on the Holiday of the Fifty, the Church as a
congregation of the faithful was established.) To these sacrifices one must
add incense as a symbol of prayer and salt as a symbol of holiness.
The tradition of the first and the last sheaf which is either left in the
field, or brought home as a bunch, or woven into various shapes (a wreath
or a cross), is very common among European peoples. Between these
practices, some of which were accompanied by ample ceremonial songs,
such as the reaping songs in Romanian folklore and the old IndoEuropean tradition of the “spirit of the crop”, which brings together all the
germinating energy of the wheat field and takes refuge in the first or the
last sheaves, ethnologists have established numerous and sophisticated
links. However, from what is known, no analysis has been made of the
meaning of these practices that are spread out among Southeastern
European farmers (Romanians, Bulgarians, Greeks, Serbs) by relating
them to Judaic practices and to their possible resemantization in the
Judeo-Christian age. For the Greeks, the last sheaf, woven into a cross or
a comb and called Kteni or Psathi, is brought home and kept in a place
where everybody can see it, as it is known to have special propitiatory and
apotropaic powers through its very contact with the sacred. In certain
regions of Greece, a small cross-shaped portion of the field is left
uncropped and is called “the ploughman’s beard” (G. A. Megas, 1963, p.
140). Romanians call it “God’s beard” or the food for birds and animals.
Similar practices accompanied by ritual songs have been reported in
Bulgaria.
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Vegetal structures are a constant presence throughout Southeastern
Europe. Represented in various guises, in their natural states, or in
various degrees of processing, they constitute a so-called “substitution
system”. The most frequent replacement of the human by the vegetal can
be identified in calendar cycle rituals as well as in various transitional
moments in the family life cycle. In this role, wheat – regardless of the
form: green sheaf, ripe sheaf, straw, boiled, crushed, or kneaded grains
turned into dough – is what is most present and has a wide range of
meanings. In addition to wheat, vines and grapes are also worth
mentioning and are followed by various types of flowers, each with its own
connotative particularization: sweet basil, marjoram, celandine,
midsummer flowers, valerian, fern, belladonna, iron herb, etc.
Folkloric literary texts grant a special place to the complex processes
undergone by wheat from the moment its seeds are sown until the dough
is baked and the ritual dough shapes are produced, among which knotshaped bread is the most significant, as it is a familiar form of ritual food
for Romanians and the peoples of Southeastern Europe in general. The
traditional legend provides a hierarchy of values relating to wheat and
corn, as the latter meets the former, hailing it with the following words:
“Good day to thou, household plenty!”, and receiving the following answer:
“We thank thee, household honour!” (Elena Niculiţă Voronca, 1903, pp.
131-139).
Oral tradition preserves the belief that “God left wheat on the earth
when Our Lord, Jesus Christ, was born, and Romanians honour him by
eating boiled wheat first on Christmas”. “Summer wheat bears the face of
God. Wafers are only made of summer wheat”. “As our bodies are made of
clay, the body of Jesus is made of wheat”. It is also said that “there was no
wheat here and the birds brought it in their breaks from across the sea. St.
Basil was the first to have sown wheat” (E. N. Voronca, 1903, p. 131-139).
Related to wheat as a vegetal in contact with the sacred (and also
having in mind the symbology of flight and the role of the bird in the
relationship between man and God), the following is found in the text of a
legend:
Jackdaws go to a monastery in the womb of the earth and bring
wheat sheaves in their beaks for the holy nuns who heap them up
into stacks. Out of those wheat sheaves the nuns make wafers and
bread. This is the place where God sends books from the sky and,
when they wake, the nuns find the books in the church. Out of the
books, letters are then written to be sent throughout the world to all
the monasteries. There we meet Saint Wednesday, Saint Friday, all
the days and their name is Saint Agura (Mount Athos) (Voronca,
1903, p. 139).
In the sacred text, wheat is used with particular significance, linked to
the “right judgment” on reaping day, when the righteous and the faithful
are saved, while the wheat – “the clean” – is sifted and then put in God’s
granary and kingdom (Matthew 3:12; 13:30). He who sows “the good seed”
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187
is “the Son of Man” – Jesus Christ – the field is the world and the wheat
cockle sown by the Devil stands for “the evil sons”. The reaping signifies
the end of the world, while the reapers are none other than the angels
(Matthew 13: 37-40).
The most elaborate manifestation form relating to grain in the ritual
existence of a folkloric community consists of dough and what is baked
from dough, as well as the kinds of dough and the ways in which it is
assimilated to acts having a sacred significance.
The first form, found predominantly in daily life, is bread (pâine, in
Romanian). Having a Latin origin, panis, panis, the word designates a kind
of food with frequent ritual connotations. It also appears in traditional
Romanian culture in the form of cake or turta (from the Latin torta, related
to panis), i.e., thin flat bread made of unleavened dough. There is also the
colac or the knot-shaped bread, from the Slavonic kolaci, i.e., a leavened
bread made of “clean” wheat, round shaped, and resembling a wreath, to
be used in family life and calendar cycles as a ritual food, and finally the
pita (from the Bulgarian pita). The knot-shaped loaf is the ritual form in
which this ritual bread is found in a number of European cultural
traditions, as proved by the following examples of local terminology: in
Albanian, kuljaki; in Aromanian, culac, “dough baked on ashes”; in IstroRomanian, colac or covrig; in Turkish, kulac; in Hungarian, kalacs; in
Friulian, colazz; in Venetian, colacci; in Calabrian, cullaciu, i.e., “sorta di
pane intrecciato a corona sormontato da un uovo”; in Ruthenian, korac; and
in Bulgarian, kolac (V. Nicolova, 1994, pp. 249-251). For Romanians, as
well as for other Orthodox people, the knot-shaped loaf is a predominant
form of ritual food, that, in some areas, is kneaded with “new water”, while
for Bulgarians, Romanians, and Greeks, “clean women” actually do the
work. In a knot-shaped bread typology one can speak of the “covered”
bread, given to ranking sponsors; the “Andrew” bread, made by young girls
with “new water”; the christening bread, given to the godfather and
godmother; the Christmas bread, woven into “three vines” given to carol
singers; the wedding bread, given by godsons to their godparents; and the
death bread or bun.
“Knot-shaped bread well-wishing” texts in the ritual of carol singing and
of the wandering plough, as well as a number of legends, stress the
sacrificial meaning of the knot-shaped bun as a ritual form of bread.
Bread is a food made of dough, which is the processed form of
harvested grain, and is most often described as a sacrificial food. It can be
found in the Last Supper, when the Eucharist comes into being. Jesus
Christ himself is called, before entering into his period of sufferings, “the
bread of life” and “living bread coming down from the sky”. The origin of
the substance out of which bread is made (Eucharist bread included) is
the body of Jesus. The Crucifixion carols sung during Christmas, along
with the story of God and the text of the legend, give credence to this fact:
Where the hammer drove,
In the hands and feet,
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Nails and spikes alike,
Blood started to flow,
And it poured on down,
Turning into wine,
Gathering around.
And around my waist,
This new belt of hip,
Tightening around,
My flesh fell away,
And down on the ground,
Holy wheat it bred,
While the Christians came,
To eat it away.
(C. Brăiloiu and S. Ispas, 1998, pp. 277-278).
In the Christian vision, the Eucharist “secretly and bloodlessly”
reproduces a “bloody” sacrifice. St. Ignatius calls it “the immorality
remedy”. Sunday used to be called “bread day” or “the day the bread is
broken”. In a spiritual sense, bread is “the food and the word of God”. It is
one of the things made by man through which Jesus Christ shows his
godly power in the miracle of the multiplication of bread (Mark 8: 6-9; Luke
9: 13-17; Matthew 15: 32-38).
Bread is also present in the Judaic tradition in the Temple of
Jerusalem. The pieces of bread to be given away represented a bloodless
sacrifice to God (the link with the mystery of the Eucharist is obvious).
There were twelve pieces of bread in all that represented the gift to God of
the twelve tribes of Israel. They were only to be eaten by priests on
Saturday, during the Sabbath, when the time came to rest and to pray.
The dough, the processed substance of which bread is made, is
mentioned in the Old Testament, in the Book of Exodus (specifically, the
mentioning of how Jewish women took some dough with them from Egypt)
as an essence of divine grace and profusion.
The sacred and symbolic value of dough is present in the Old
Testament text and is developed in the New Testament. Metaphorically
speaking, the dough is “the teaching and the work of grace”. The heavenly
kingdom is compared to “... leaven, which a woman took, and hid in three
measures of meal, till the whole was leavened” (Matthew 13: 33). There is
also a dough of evil, envy, and hypocrisy. In his epistles, Paul advises the
Corinthians to clean “the old dough” in order to turn it into “a new
kneading”. In light of these symbolic meanings, the text of the wandering
plough, recited at the start of each New Year and describing the long and
agonizing process through which the sheaf of wheat becomes dough and
(knot-shaped) bread with a sacred and ritual role in such traditions,
acquires a sacred, expiatory function.
The vegetal symbol is constantly present in the rituals performed in
Southeastern Europe. The motif of suffering ritual plants, wheat and
hemp, in legends, fables, and carols, is a significant cultural reference
BALKAN FOLK TRADITIONS
189
point for the whole area. Older symbols have acquired new meanings
through Christianization and have become bearers of new messages about
the mystery of the Eucharist and the forgiveness that is earned through
the suffering that stands for humanity.
In Romanian popular literature, in several groups of variants belonging
to a series of folkloristic species, there are some important texts about the
vegetal passions. There is, first of all, the legend about the young girl who
is visited by werewolves or ghosts during a social event and is saved
because she tells the story of the hemp or wheat passions. Sometimes, the
tale takes the form of a lyrical song having an erotic theme. The agony of
the hemp can be identified in variants of legends and exorcism rites. The
passions of the wheat appear in fantastic tales, lyrical songs, the
Crucifixion carol, and the dispute of the flowers carol.
The passion of the wheat appears in the following narrative form:
A boy, who is persecuted by his stepmother, is assisted by the
enchanted ox for which he has been caring. When the ox dies, the boy
receives one of its horns as a gift, but is not permitted to open the horn
until he gets to the “strengthened folds”, “to his house”. The boy disobeys,
opens the horn, and is helpless when many herds of animals scatter away.
Then a dragon appears (the beast from the North, the devil, etc., as the
demoniac expression of popular legend) and helps the boy recover his
riches, but asks him to give up his own life “right when nothing could
make him happier”. On the day of the boy’s wedding, the demon reappears
and demands to be followed. The knot-shaped bread loaf on the wedding
table jumps in front of the dragon and starts to tell “the passion of the
wheat”.
People ploughed the field, sowed and harrowed me, trod upon me
with their feet and their oxen, and I endured; you too must endure!
[...] In the earth I swelled, I germinated, I got out and I endured; you
too must endure! [...] They scraped at my root, they harvested me,
they took me home [...] they beat me with a club until they crushed
me, they winnowed me, put me in sacks, took me to the mill, and
there they ground me ‘til I turned into flour, and again I endured;
you too must endure! [...] They put me back in sacks, took me home
again, sifted me through a sieve, dipped me in water and kneaded
me. After that they lit the oven and let it burn until it was red. Then
they put me on a shovel, got me into the oven and there I burned
and burned and burned, dear me, until I got to be the way you see
me now, and still endured; you too must endure!
When the story of the plant’s passion ends, the dragon bursts open,
and the boy is saved. The same basic narrative characterizes the text of the
wandering plough. It contrasts with the account of the making of wishes
symbolized by the knot-shaped bread, the Crucifixion carol, and the song
about the substances of which the Eucharist bread is made. Basically, the
agony in this case represents the technological process the vegetal
substance undergoes in order to be transformed into dough. The presence
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of dough and of wheat in its various forms (green or ripe sheaves, boiled
grains, funeral porridge, dough) in rituals is a constant throughout
Southeastern Europe and among its Orthodox populations: Bulgarians,
Greeks, and Romanians.
Grain and bread symbology, as well as – implicitly – their profound
meanings have been recorded by research results. The principal meaning
of bread in various customs is that of marking a new beginning. This new
beginning, however, occurs under the sign of cleansing, of eliminating guilt
and sin through the narrative or the prefiguration of a plant the agony of
which atones for guilt. This motif is an equivalent of sacrifice, with vegetal
sacrifice, this time, replacing human sacrifice, i.e., the ultimate sacrifice.
Thus, Christian sacrifice, through the symbolic gesture of the Last Supper,
substitutes the sacrifice of “clean” wheat – the bread – and of processed
vital substance – the juice of the grape – the blood, for a sacrifice of flesh
and blood. The verbalization of the “passion of the wheat” (in some of its
more recent variants, wheat is replaced by maize [corn] or rye) is the updating of a sacrifice made in a “liminal moment”, “a beginning”, and meant
to put an end to violence, to purify space and time, and to make room for
the sacred in daily life.
In the sacrifice the main object of which is wheat, humankind is
involved as a sacrificer and as an accomplice in agony. In its finite shape of
bread, the vegetal and the agony it has experienced make up a symbology
of expiation and atonement for sin and disobedience. The meal during
which knot-shaped bread is eaten embodies not only a communication
rite, but also a character of expiation, the freeing from sin of those who
take part in this common dinner, viewed as a kind of ritual feast:
The meal that followed enclosed a communion rite, but at the same
time an expiation character. The relationships between the wheat
field as a living and divine being and the social group are fully
incorporated in these practices.... The old sacrifice of the god,
contained in the ritual, is transported at this stage in the story of the
violent death of divinity.... It is a phase when the form of the
communion-sacrifice gives in to the form of the oblation-sacrifice... (I.
Ionică, 1943).
The forms of dough in popular culture in Southeastern Europe have a
remarkable diversity and richness.
The text of the legend or the legendary tale about the agony of the hemp
is a narrative about the girls in a village (in some cases, several villages)
who decide to get together for a spinning social “in a deserted house, out in
the field”, or “without letting the boys know”. During the event, several
young strangers show up and spend time with the girls. One of the girls,
sometimes the youngest, notices that the boys have “geese feet”, “keep
their tails under the bench”, or “have hoofs”, signs which identify them as
being ghosts. The girls are frightened and run away from the house, except
for one of them who had fallen asleep. Left to the mercy of the ghosts, this
girl spins her hemp and at the same time tells the story of “the agony of
BALKAN FOLK TRADITIONS
191
the hemp”, representing the whole agricultural and domestic process, from
sowing to weaving, by which hemp is changed into cloth out of which a
shirt is eventually made. This shirt, a variant of “the plague shirt” or “the
victory shirt”, is also attested in Greek folklore and is produced by an
identical technology. When the girl completes her spinning session, the
story comes to an end as well; the roosters herald the beginning of a new
morning, and the ghosts vanish.
A number of studies deal with the ritual significance of the social
occasion of group work and, implicitly, of the series of events occurring on
such occasions. A much-involved social group is the so-called premarital
women’s association. Such women’s associations, that are not always
endowed with premarital initiation roles, can also be found in SouthDanubian Slavic and Greek folklore. During social events, a specialized
repertoire was performed having, in most cases, premarital or ritual
functions. The goal of many rituals was to lure the boys into the group so
that acts of divination could be undertaken in order to find out who is
meant to marry whom. By comparison with the role of girls in a social
association, that of boys, who had their own association that became
active on the occasion of community ceremonies that included carol
singing or the performance of Morris dances, was passive. The boys were
temporarily present and marginally involved in the event. The social event
also had a protocol of its own, establishing the functions of participants,
and had to be well-defined in time and space.
A major variant of the previously mentioned legend begins with the nonobservance of certain compulsory customs. For instance, not all the girls,
but only some of them, are invited to take part in the social event. The time
and the place are not what they should be. The girls meet in an isolated
venue, outside the village, sometimes without informing the boys. These
actions make possible the contact with malefic powers, with the demoniac
– ghosts, dragons, goblins, St. Theodores’s horses, the Tuesday ghoul, the
Thursday hag, etc., characters appearing frequently in Southeastern
Europe, each of them having certain common features for the whole area,
as well as regionally specific traits: the dragons of the Bulgarians, the
werewolves, the vampires, and the ghosts of the Greeks, the zane of the
Albanians, the pixies of the Romanians, etc.
There was a registered ban against such social events on Tuesday or
Thursday evenings, as well as on St. Theodores’s night. Whoever infringed
the ban was punished by the Thursday hag, the Tuesday ghoul, or St.
Theodores’s horses turned into young lads. The non-observance of bans
did not extend the area of authority of these devilish forms of expression
but placed the protagonists on the “border between the worlds”, where
contacts are possible and forces can move in opposite directions. The
ghosts or the St. Theodores’s horses, which join the social event of the girls
do not perpetrate an unwarranted aggression against ban infringers
having to do with space and time, but punish the pretentiousness of those
who try to get into contact with them but are unable to cope with the
special features of their existence.
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The group of narratives in which the central place goes to the motif of
the “passions of the hemp”, belongs to the motif that refers to “the crop
power of the field or, more widely, to vegetation in general” (Ionică, 1943).
It represents an older stratum of popular thinking referring to the face of
the visible world. An interesting chapter on legends could be written about
the powers of things that while composing a true essence, can concentrate
upon, scatter away, and even separate themselves from their essence.
Indeed, they can be stolen and destroyed.... At their limit, these
powers – which find an interesting parallel in the old Italian
numina.... [achieve their] personified appearances either as souls
(genii), or as mothers of these things (Ionică, 1943).
It is worth stressing that this type of mentality is present over a large
area of Southeastern Europe, but is manifested in a special form in the
relationship between man and the vegetal.
Plants were some of the main coordinates of spiritual life, which is
why ancient botanical legends that have survived make up an
important chapter in popular tradition. As in the world of plants,
there were a number of protectors against the supernatural
embodied in the “pixies” who robbed men of their bodily powers, the
“ghosts” who stole the crop in the field, and the animals’ milk, the
“wizards” and the dragons who brought down hail from the skies.
(About the acceptation of myth as a technical term, see below the
discussion of legends.)
In Romanian popular tradition, hemp is frequently used in expiatory
apotropaic rituals: “How come hemp is not good if it gets you out of hell?”;
“Hemp is great. It is holy for it dresses man and is so tormented”. “Hemp is
so much work, He who never worked in his life should wear a tow shirt at
least on his death[bed] and will find it easier to go there [to Heaven] if he is
seen to have carried its burden in this world” (Voronca, 1903, pp. 10771127).
In these texts, preserved from old oral tradition, one can easily decode
the idea of atonement for sin through passion, not only the passion of the
plant, but also that of the person who grows and processes the hemp. At
the same time, creation is sacrifice. Existence is the transition toward this
self-sacrifice. Mircea Eliade (1968) wrote that, although inanimate things
were born and grew up just the way human beings did, they lead a longer
life than man does. They obtain more out of “the vital substance” from
which they were shaped on this earth and have more magical powers.
Their presence near a human being is favourable. These living things,
which sometimes have a gynecomorphous birth and die later than man,
place him or her, on one hand, in a favourable astral correspondence,
while on the other hand, provide him or her with a longer and more fruitful
life.
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According to texts on alchemy that speak of “the agony of metals”,
eternal life cannot be reached without suffering and death. The most
important action in which hemp is involved is the making of “the victory
shirt” or “the plague shirt”. The passion motif of the hemp, as it shows up
in certain variants of legends, seems to be the verbalization of an ancient
custom by which a community was protected from the spreading of severe
epidemics – plague, cholera, typhoid fever, and flu. The last Romanian
attestation of this practice was reported during the First World War.
The practice was the following. A number of old women or maids would
gather in a house and, during night-time, would spin and weave from
hemp a bleached fabric made into a shirt that they would carry
ceremoniously to the end of the village or to the nearest crossroads. It
seems that a text might be recited while the shirt was being carried: “My
dear, from now on mind your own business, spin your hemp, and leave us
alone” (S. Ispas, 1993).
A similar practice is reported to have existed in Greece. In certain
regions, alms were distributed with only women taking part in the
ceremony, while men had to pay a sum of money. The fact that “for all
diseases, when many people died, the plague shirt had to be made...”
proves the continuity of this practice under the same name even after the
plague had passed. The specific features of this custom were the following:
the shirt was made over one night, usually on Tuesday or Thursday (when
social events and group work were normally forbidden). Certain rules
regarding purity had to be observed, and the shirt could only be made of
hemp. The fact that the shirt was made precisely during those days when
work was forbidden served as a means of suppressing demoniac forces in
order to purify space and time, to obtain forgiveness, and to atone for sin
through voluntary sacrifice. By this means, self-sacrifice was changed into
an instrument of prevention in the struggle against violence.
The motifs of the agony of plants have been analyzed and linked to the
cult of the dead, as well to agrarian or seasonal ceremonies. Mircea Eliade
(1968) assembled information about the death of the Canaanite deity, Mot,
at the hands of Anat, the goddess of war. She catches him, stabs him with
a sword, winnows him with a winnow, burns him in flames, and scatters
him on the field, where he is eaten by birds. This ritual killing is specific
for gods and for vegetal spirits, for Mot is treated as if he were a wheat
sheaf.
Special attention should be devoted here to the comprehensive analysis
undertaken by H. Jeanmaire (1976) in a book called Dionysos: Histoire du
culte de Bacchus. The myth of the god, Dionysus, who is torn to pieces by
the Titans, is cooked and eaten, and whose head is reconstructed, along
with an analysis of the objects known to have been used in Dionysiac
practices, lead to an explanatory myth regarding initiation rituals. Neither
an agrarian nor a seasonal character are obvious in the myths that are
typically Greek. Yet periodic disappearances and appearances are well
marked. A myth will tell a story of an episode in the childhood of a god or
of another mythical personality. There are no obvious features that can be
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linked to an image of ripe wheat or fruit. Symbols do not focus on
agriculture. Only a few hints suggest connections with the myth of Osiris.
The legend of the death of Dionysus reveals certain diabolical features
which have never disappeared from the inner soul of this deity, not even
after he acquires a new Olympian look. Dionysus is said to have spent the
time between his death at the hands of the Titans and the moment at
which he came back to life in Hades.
In the Greco-Roman world, the months of February and March
witnessed the celebration of the Anthesteria, while the Greater Dionysiac
celebration took place during March and April. The Anthesteria celebration
seems to be the oldest and most important Dionysiac celebration. The
three Anthesteria days were unpropitious, for it was during this period that
the souls of the dead, as well as the shadows from Hades, came back to
earth. The last day was devoted to them. People said prayers for the dead
and cooked panspermia, a sort of porridge made of various grains, which
had to be eaten before nightfall. Once the night settled in, the shades were
chased away with shouts.
This sort of ritual scenario is well-known to agricultural civilizations.
The dead and the powers of the netherworld are believed to govern both
fruitfulness, riches, and the distribution of both. Dionysus appears as a
god of both fertility and death. One cannot overlook the ancient tradition
according to which Dionysus “came from the North”, from the culture area
of Thrace. The myth of Dionysus’s torments is primarily what drew the
attention of Christian commentators as early as the Second Century A.D.
In the stories about the agony of plants, the price of redemption is given
in terms of vegetal sacrifice which, in all the cases evoked above, symbolize
the reorganization of the amorphous through the work of man, in other
words, the transition from a natural state to cultural richness. Culture is,
after all, a processing of nature into a new order, with different functions,
and another existence altogether.
C. THE LEGEND: ORIGIN, FUNCTION, DETERMINATION
To understand the exceptional role that is assigned to folk texts in
determining individual and group identity, it is useful to consider one of
the most important varieties of non-ritual epic, the legend, the function of
which is to relay accurate information in traditional communities.
Given the informational and instructional value of legends, all generic
structures of traditional cultures are ordered around them. Starting from
them, the mental points of reference of a community are organized.
Well represented in the literature of the Middle Ages, known and
analyzed by medievalists, the legend proves to be, even today, a point of
reference in the identification of collective oral thinking. Given the
circumstances of active globalization, today, and the reformulation of
many traditional concepts, new directions are emerging in the
revalorization of good and evil, beautiful and ugly, and the relation of the
individual to the transcendental. Contemporary society is currently
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witnessing the atomization and the diversification of group-guiding values
and, as a consequence, the diversification of groups.
The transmission of information by audiovisual means, particularly the
explicit penetration of different age groups by the Internet, bring forward
an arsenal of images that folklorists could easily integrate into what are
usually considered to be changing motifs. In folkloric studies, such a
process is very important, particularly with regard to the role and place of
the so-called contemporary legend. The general framework of the legend is
valuable from a theoretical perspective, both in terms of the traditional
legend and of the new form of legend that contemporary society is creating.
Legens,-tis is the participle of lego, “I read”. As a masculine noun, it can
be found in Ovid’s work: “reader”; lego, legi, lectum, legere – lego, is
identical to its Greek counterpart, the primitive meaning of which – “to
gather, to choose” – developed differently in Greek and in Latin; thus,
legere vestigia – “to collect traces, to follow; legere viam – “to make a
journey”; legere saltus – “to wander, to walk in the woods; legere celum –
“to move your eyes, to look at the sky”. Cicero uses legere libros – “to read
books” and legere judices – “to choose judges”. Ovid uses dum legar – “as
long as I am read”, Ovid and Pliny the Elder use legere nomino, tempus –
“to choose the right name or time”; Plautus uses legere sermonem – “to
collect (wait for) a speech”.
Several principal meanings can be observed, which were probably used
to choose a term that first designated a collection of texts which later
designated a folkloric category: to gather, to collect, to read. The “right”
choice and ideas of anthology are constantly found in this effort.
In the Thirteenth Century, Jacobus of Voragine composed his Legendae
Sanctorum (Legenda aurea) which included the lives of the saints and was
a favourite, if not a compulsory, reading during community meals in the
monasteries and also during certain forms of religious service. The term
was borrowed from literary Latin – legenda (ae) – and designates “the life of
a saint” or of a martyr.
Throughout the years, mainly through the appearance of certain
theoretical traits in the field which would later be called folkloristics, the
term acquired specific meanings and connotations that were well-defined
and included a social component. A brief presentation of some of these
opinions is instructive. Such an analysis also entails the mentioning of
other oral narrative species which converge with the legend at a certain
point. It would be useful, however, to make a few points about “genres”,
quality, and meaning in folkloristics and in folklore.
The first topic to be covered in a grammar on folklore is the system of
genres. Genres make up systems consisting of different channels for
cultural communication. Oral tradition, i.e., folklore, is divided into genres
and generic systems that differ from those of so-called author cultures.
Such systems, in fact, impose an organization in the lives of both rural and
urban communities in all spiritual and material forms of manifestation.
They respond to all the needs of the group and create the landmarks, the
physical and moral existence of the group itself and of its members. To
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establish the system of genres of an ethnic community, one has to take
into account a number of elements: contents, style, structure, context,
role, frequency distribution, and origin. These elements have different
weights and are coordinated by historical data.
A system of classification, one including genre and species categories,
can have several goals. The simplest and, at the same time, basic
classifications deal with genres. The problem is that, for oral creation, the
syncretism of which makes it more difficult to draw firm lines and for
whom motifs, functionality, and polysemy group its units into confusing
and fluctuating constellations, a different type of conceptualization is
needed, one built upon structures that vary from those of classic literary
theory. This opinion is supported by the so frequently quoted travelling
motifs, which are in fact multifunctional and polysemous, as well as by the
different social, historical, and cultural circumstances needed for the lives
of various folkloric communities, the identities and ethnic profiles of which
are defined, among other things, by the genres and species systems. As
stated above, such a system is a means of communication, a way of
dividing reality according to an ethnic identity having a specific expression
in a system of oral culture genres and species.
The systematization of written texts and even of the complex
phenomena of oral culture can also be undertaken in terms of
functionality (which is one of the most important factors to be taken into
consideration in the event of an international systematization that would
be beneficial to the entire field of folklore studies) by stressing technical
production modalities. These would include (but would not be limited to)
the type of performance, the relationship between the text and the tune,
the motif assembly technique, the functional model, the key words, and
the stylistic factors. An international system of oral creation genres and
species should first have a functional basis and should next follow those
nodes in which different plans of analysis and various levels of
generalization converge. The system should be able to lead to the
conceptualization of units with higher abstracting and formalizing
capacities, as well as to models actually expressed in (and through) the
genuine variants of the folkloric fact.
Beyond such theoretical and very general concerns, one should not
overlook the classifications in topics and motif catalogues or those used in
producing international bibliographies and in managing folklore archives.
By referring to analyses of materials that were systematized through prime
syntheses of this kind, it is possible to refine those principles and qualities
required in order to establish such a system of supranational categories
and terminology.
Romania is one of the countries in which mythology was very often used
as a screen for confusing analyses, in which various authors speculated
about certain texts and their meanings, in order to discover either their
origins or the semantic enrichment that Christianity brought into the
national culture. For the Romanian, Bulgarian, and other Southeastern
European folkloristic schools, pagan mythology is still one of the favourite
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sources of inspiration for analyses or speculations. Literary texts are still
systematically emptied of any Christian meaning, of any possible contact
with European medieval culture. Experts are still strenuously trying to
prove the primitivism of traditional culture and its absolute autonomy in
the face of everything that could mean an integration into the sophisticated
medieval culture of Europe.
A tripartition of the epic text was established: myth, legend, and
popular tale.
The mythological theory is taken to painfully acceptable limits by Max
Müller (1881), for whom the heroes of legend and tale, as well as the gods,
are mere anthropomorphic forms of natural phenomena. Old Arian words
indicating natural phenomena were perceived, because of “the language
disease”, as the names of deities. Metaphors and poetic images were taken
in their literal rather than their figurative meanings, after the IndoEuropean populations migrated from India to Europe. Mythological
legends were created around deities, but as they lost their religious
support throughout the years, they paved the way for the development of a
popular literature which in its turn generated the tale.
Th. Benfey (1859) developed another aspect of Indianism after close
contact with old Indian texts through a translated version of Panchatantra.
In his view, the origin of European tales lies in India, from which a
common core spread over the whole world. This theory has a monogenetic
perspective that credits Indian tales with having a kind of archetypal value.
Without questioning M. Müller’s solar mythology, Archer Taylor (1948),
the founder of the Anthropological folkloristic School, pushes the origins of
folkloric phenomena back into prehistory, according to which the universe,
seen from an animistic angle, gave people throughout the world similar
information that was closely assimilated by those who found themselves at
the same level of evolution.
Andrew Lang (1913), a supporter of the survivalist theory, thinks that it
is possible to reconstruct aspects of the mentality of primitive man by
studying contemporary data provided by folklore.
The two experts in question belong to the Anthropological School which
made its presence known at the end of the Nineteenth Century and in the
first half of the Twentieth Century. Its aim was to establish the behavioural
laws of a culture through the study of oral culture and through research
carried out with support from the social sciences. In terms of both the
study angle and the anticipated outcome, anthropologists differ from
humanist folklorists who consider oral literature to embody the material
principle of folklore. They lay great stress on the narrator or the singer. (Of
the modern researchers who favour this perspective, one of the best known
and most frequently quoted is Albert Lord (1960), who, starting with Milan
Parry’s Serbo-Croatian collection, shows – experimentally and even
statistically – that the performer improvises, guiding him- or herself with
reference to a stock of images filed away in his or her memory.)
James George Frazer (1915, 1918) and the Cambridge School support
the myth-ritual origin of folklore. According to this school, it was thought
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that a mythical tale always accompanied and commented upon a sacrificial
or fertility ritual. Throughout the years, the myth detached itself from the
rite and became an “oral tradition” partly penetrating the fantastic tale, the
ballad, etc.
Hans Naumann (1921) developed a theory about “myth and the social
classes”, according to which cultural goods belong to “aristocratic classes”,
while court poetry, the songs of bards, and religious or lay chants later
passed from those who generated and developed them in the lower classes,
through imitation and sometimes through contents suppression, to
become what was known as “gesundkenes kulturgut”. Obviously, this
perspective is an exclusionist one, but at the same time it confirms the role
of a culture coordinator, a model, and a promoter that has to be assumed,
in many situations of critical community importance, by this élite core that
is called “aristocracy”, especially in the structuring of community cultural
systems. J. Bédier (1908-1913, 1925) is known to partly support this
position.
Fundamental contributions to the “narrative species” study
methodology as well as to the territorial distribution of narratives, and
even of their approximate time and place of birth, were made by the
supporters of the Finnish school of historical geography. Three of its
founding members, Kaarle and Julius Krohn and Antti Aarne (Arne and
Thompson, 1961) claim that it is possible to establish the primitive shape
of a motif or of an episode, along with the place and the approximate age of
their birth. The Finnish school opened up a wide perspective for
researchers in comparative folklore and stimulated the publication of some
large motif- or theme-focused monographs. One of the very first
comparative studies, called Cinderella, was written in 1883, by Marian
Cox.
A special type of narrative species research was undertaken under the
influence of a number of psychoanalytical studies made by Sigmund
Freud, C. G. Jung, and Paul Radin (see S. Freud, 1925; C. G. Jung and C.
Kerényi, 1968; C. G. Jung, 1977).
The humanist, anthropological, and psychoanalytical trends do not
exclude each other, but function in a complementary relationship and
round off the complex image of the narrative phenomenon as an allencompassing structure.
Claude Lévi-Strauss (1960), who has been interested in interpreting the
narrative (and especially the mythical) text from a new angle, considers
popular stories to be an important part of an expressive culture that also
includes drama, rituals, music, drawing, painting, dancing, etc., that can
be contrasted with practical culture: technology, economics, politics, and
social structures. The main (empirical) shortcoming of expressive culture is
the manipulation of the feelings of participants. (These remarks actually
describe the phenomenon designated as folklore by experts, while this part
of Lévi-Strauss’s analysis (1960) attempts to define folklore in relation to
what is considered to be extra-folkloric.)
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Regarding popular stories, the French anthropologist states that there
is a need “to classify them according to their social function, contents, and
structures” and observes that the same story has a variable function, in
keeping with the performance time and space. Some people consider the
text as a myth, others see it as a mere form of entertainment. This remark,
that is well-known to folklore specialists, once again stresses the
multivalence and the polysemy of motifs and episodes. Lévi-Strauss (1960)
makes an interesting point when commenting upon this change of
function, the difference not lying in the abstract concept of the sacred, but
in the actual integration of the sacred and of entertainment in particular
cultures. He provides comparatively little information about the
mechanisms and models which guide the narrative phenomenon and
direct species functionality. Such fine distinctions belong to the study of
folklore and were only, to a small extent, the concern of those who had an
anthropological view of the phenomena of oral culture.
Several personalities have dealt with the phenomena of oral narratives.
It is necessary to mention their remarks about genres and species
systems. Their works are the basis of present-day structuring and, one
way or another, make up the system upon which contemporary
folkloristics relies in the analyses it performs.
In discussing legend formation, Arnold van Gennep (1910a)
distinguishes between two classes of “narratives”: one having an aesthetic
value, the other one, a utilitarian value. In terms of contents, the scholar
makes distinctions starting from thematic grounds, from the
understanding of the beliefs existing in the narrative or from the quality of
the characters.
A. van Gennep (1910b) distinguishes among particularities specific to
various types of narratives. He identifies two groups of narrative types,
actually juxtaposing the narrative species according to the degree of
credibility with which they are provided by the folkloristic individual. In
van Gennep’s opinion, myths and legends are narratives which can be
“objects of faith” (and are considered true), while tales and fables cannot be
so considered. Myth has the substance of a legend which is localized in
space and time outside human action. Its enactors are divine characters,
and their texture is a combination of beliefs translated into magical and
religious acts. The legend has a precise location and well-determined
characters whose acts seem to have a historical basis and are endowed
with a heroic quality. Legends are localized and individualized narratives,
and they are also “objects of faith” (are considered to be true).
The tale is a miraculous and romantic-sentimental story, the action of
which takes place in an unspecified venue and the characters of which are
not individualized. The tale conveys a “childlike” vision of the universe and
is known to manifest “moral indifference”.
The fable, which A. van Gennep (1910b) places next to the tale in the
previously mentioned polarity, is a versified narrative in which animal
characters have human qualities or behave like human beings. If the text
is in prose, the result is an “animal tale”.
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In a work devoted particularly to the formation of legends, A. van
Gennep (1910a) considers the legend to be a “combination of themes” that
he calls a “thematic cycle”. Thematic cycles cope with certain contradictory
tendencies: localization and personification versus de-localization and depersonification. In addition to these “legend formation laws”, the author
mentions other pairs of tendencies which act in the thematic plan, such
as: individualization/de-temporalization, convergence/dissociation, etc.
So far as topics are concerned, legends can be linked to the natural or
to the supernatural world. Natural world legends are explanatory, have a
local character, and can be woven at any time, within any community.
They refer to the stars, the sky, the earth, and the waters, have animal
characters, but are different from the fables, which are not localized and –
with few exceptions – are not considered true. Demigods or civilizing
heroes are described as hybrid beings endowed with an almost divine
power and an almost human psychology. Supernatural world legends refer
to demons and gods, being ritualistic and dramatic. Here the confusion
between legend and myth is obvious. The narrative and the rite make up a
whole. The narratives thought to be true translate into actions while they
are being told, being therefore dramatized legends – or myths – in a real
sense.
J. G. Frazer (1915, 1918) considers myth to be a “fake science”, and
legends, to be “fake histories”.
Analyzing data obtained from research on the native culture in the
Trobriand Islands, Bronislaw Malinowsky (1968) commented upon the
status of myth in primitive psychology. Seen from the angle of this
“primitive” community, myth is sacred. It is perceived as being entirely
true. Myths are recited, while various rituals are performed throughout the
year. They serve the rituals to which they are associated. Commenting
upon concepts such as magic, science, and religion, the author stresses
the fact that myth is not a story, but an expression of strong, moral
wisdom. Myth expresses, raises, and encodes faith; saves and strengthens
morality; guarantees the efficiency of the ritual; and contains practical
rules which direct the actions of people. Myth is “a vital ingredient” for
human civilization.
Legends are assigned a solemn status. A legend has to inform, is
considered true, and contains important factual information. Legends do
not have stereotypical forms or magical effects. Their main role is to
provide information that can be conveyed at any time of the day or the
year, whenever somebody wants to be informed.
In Malinowsky’s view (1968), the tale is a work of fiction with specific
particularities including a dramatic aspect appearing throughout its
rendering and an entertainment function. The points made by this
remarkable ethnologist were fructified in later years and developed
analytically by experts, while in general terms, they served as landmarks
for many future works, especially in the field of ethnology.
This relationship between truth, fiction, and miracle, which helps
establish the functionality of a folkloric category and eventually the specific
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system of genres, characterizes many societies. It is operating in Romania
as well as in the other parts of Southeastern European culture, within a
genre and species system, for popular prose. In the folkloric environment,
narrative denominations occur as a sort of movement along this bipolar
axis, while insiders in regard to folklore only recognize the true story, such
as the legend or the rote memory, as well as the tale or “the lie”, the
fantastic, novelistic, or animal tale.
A whole series of narratives are related to a hero, whose birth and death
are perceived as quasi-historical events. The elements working together to
form the hero as a notion come from three different sources: myth, legend,
and history, each having a different proportional weight. The personality of
the character, in a limited acceptation, is a legendary hero.
The difference between a hero and a god is the following: while the hero
carries out certain ephemeral actions, with repercussions in the history of
mankind, the god defines himself in relation to cosmogony, acts upon
nature, and plays a permanent role. It is precisely this distinction that this
chapter focuses upon when discussing certain aspects of religious legends.
Unlike the legend or the hero saga, the tale detaches itself from any
coordinates of time and space.
Taking a historical perspective, one can understand that the evolution
of the original debate in this direction was both necessary and natural. The
mythological theory, the prime promoters of which in 1812 were the two
brothers, Jakob and Wilhelm Grimm (1835, 1856), led to the mentioning of
the existence of such a link for the first time. As the two brothers assumed,
a veritable Pantheon, which openly manifested itself and developed during
the pre-Roman age, was dissolved during the medieval European period,
so that only fragments of the beliefs in ancient myths survived.
This author considers that it is incorrect to use the term, myth, to
designate legends of a religious, specifically Christian origin. She attempts
to evoke the image, for instance, of Romanian folk culture from the
standpoint of Orthodoxy, the predominant Christian confession in
Romania, in some of its most frequently and divergently discussed forms of
manifestation: the texts concerning mythological characters and the socalled mythological and religious legends. She also proposes a few ideas for
obtaining a better grasp of the meaning of the apocryphal from the angle of
literary history.
Each category, species, or subspecies of folk creation was the object of
many researchers of a separate study. Thus, the bibliography of this topic
is very rich.
When analyzing the myth – legend – tale tripartition, researchers mainly
had in mind the formal aspect, that of the narrative contents, of the
context, the link with the space and time when the action took place or
when the narrative was told, the hero’s quality, etc. Myth is usually
associated with the sacred and the truth. Legend is related to the secular
or the sacred and the truth, while the tale is linked to the secular and to
fiction (Lauri Honko, 1989). Only Claude Lévi-Strauss (1960), and to some
extent, Vladimir I. Propp (1973), consider that there are no “serious
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grounds” for isolating the tale from the myth. Here there are serious
doubts, for it is fundamental to associate the text with the ritual in the
case of myth and to distinguish between the contemporary “official” and
“revealed” religions, which can be found in modern society, and the socalled “primitive” religious systems of archaic or modern communities, the
structure, functionality, and dogmatic and symbolic significance of which
are of a different order.
The Sophists, and following them, the Stoics and the neo-Platonists,
interpreted traditional myths and theogonic tales as allegories intended to
spread religious and philosophical truths about nature and behaviour. The
Renaissance interpreted myths as moral allegories or artistic
representations of human wishes and emotions. Such an assertion could
be sustained only if focused on the formal, structural plan and on the
symbolic significance of myth. At the functional level, which is considered
to be the most important for the definition of folkloric categories, the
differences are substantial.
Positivist ethnologists have considered myth to be an explanatory form
of thinking intended to be overtaken by scientific thinking. Functionalists
evaluated it in terms of its pragmatic function of solving problems that
affected the destiny of individuals in a given society. In their vision, myth
validates institutions and rites. Theologians and idealist philosophers
perceived myth as a symbol of transcendent truth, of timelessness. From
the standpoint of literature, myth was considered as a symbol of universal
archetypes, “primordial images” sprung from the collective subconscious.
The myth, the legend, and the tale were actually approached from two
angles: the literal and the symbolic.
The mythic hero is predominantly divine, sometimes human, but
complementary to the divine. In a tale, the hero is predominantly human,
with non-human opponents. Analysis has proved that, in certain
situations, a tale is able to perform functions which provide it with relative
sacralization, but these functions have nothing to do with ritual. In certain
communities, even the time and place at which tale-telling might occur
recalled such sacred connotations. For instance, tales were not told before
sunset or in places supposedly haunted by ghosts, while legends could be
related anytime and anywhere (Bîrlea, 1983). By comparison with the
myth, which is valid for the whole community where it works as such, the
tale has various degrees of verisimilitude, ranging from the whole
community in which it is circulated to various groups making up the
community, that are distinguished in terms of age, social status, sex,
education, socio-professional affiliation, etc.
In its turn, legend is a truth accepted by the community, just as a myth
is. Within a community, myths make up packages of relationships
organized in a unitary system in terms of meanings and symbols, being
both complementary and religiously integrated. M. Mauss (1969) makes
the following pertinent points regarding the position of myth in social
activity:
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Le Dieu, le rite, le nom, le mythe, tout cela forme un conglomérat dont
on ne peut dissocier les éléments que par abstraction; il n’a pas
d’antériorité de nom sur l’idée, ou du rite sur le mythe. Parce
qu’éclectique, cette méthode sera aussi plus objective et sociologique.
Car le nom, ainsi rattaché au rite, cesse d’être une simple expression
verbale; il devient partie intégrante de tout un système de choses dont
il est inséparable, et ces choses sont sociales.
Systems were created for tales only at a formal level. Relationships can
be true and sacred or not, but they do not belong to the religious system.
What is actually taking shape is a system of parallel relationships.
From the point of view of this chapter, the myth, the legend, and the
tale are three modalities by which knowledge can be attained. The myth is
a form of sacred and systematic knowledge, covering all the necessary
levels of a community. The legend is a form of “scientific” knowledge,
having the value of a general experience carried out by means of
“discovery”. The tale is a form of mediated knowledge, placed between the
two previously mentioned forms and at the human level, being achieved
through an artistic explanatory effort. Out of these three units, which are
considered to be fundamental, other subdivisions result, the existence of
which is determined by the weight and the combined relationships among
various coordinates linked to rite, sacredness, time, space, and
verisimilitude.
A fundamental element for the integration of a narrative into one of
these three fundamental divisions is the hero’s status. Present-day
researchers can resort to comprehensive literature on the situation of
“official religions”, as in the sort of situation, as cited by Heda Jason
(1978), that compels one to make a fine distinction among the features of
the “hero” in those cases in which actions are carried out by the respective
deities. From the position of a contemporary believer, the position of God
or of the saints is radically different from that of a hero in ancient
mythology or in the myth of a present-day “primitive” population in the
text of a legend or a tale. In fact, no text having the function of a myth can
be attested.
Such a distinction is critical; however, most researchers have simply
overlooked this type of situation. It is precisely here that the contemporary
legend should be situated, for it finds itself – one way or another – under
the incidence of a divine force. (The case of historical legends, that relate
events that are unconnected to the miracle or to the toponymy and the
onomastics in the same category, are not being evoked.)
When the mythological hero finds himself in a civilizing hypostasis, he
reveals sacred knowledge and turns into an initiator. The civilizing hero in
the legend is a discoverer. The hero in a tale, one who is also civilizing, is
an initiator about whom a story is told. The action of initiating, that is
secret for outsiders, makes up the contents of a tale which is nothing but a
narrative of the hero in his initiatory stage. In the three categories, the
civilizing hero of the narrative finds himself in various moments of his
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fantastic existence. In the myth, this existence is complete and is
integrated into the mythical system to which it belongs. In the tale, the
civilizing hero takes part in the initiating act. In the legend, he is seen in a
specific moment of an action he performs upon the world.
The mythological hero was studied by experts not only as a cultural and
civilizing hero, but also as a traditional hero, with a more encompassing
and less restrictive personality.
In 1876, J. G. von Hahn wrote the Sagwissenschaftliche Studien,
published in Jena. He analyzed the biographies of fourteen heroes and
established sixteen characteristic episodes for the biography of a hero,
divided into four basic groups: birth, youth, return, and complementary
events. The established episodes can form groups in different ways and
can vary in number from one narrative to another; however, these episodes
always evoke the life history of a hero, a mythological character, a fantastic
tale, or a legendary protagonist, as well as that of a “popular” hero, such as
Alexander the Great.
In writing The Hero with a Thousand Faces, Joseph Campbell (1956)
limited the possible events in a hero’s life to the following three: separation,
initiation, and return. Of course, this author could not have been familiar
with V. I. Propp’s work (1973) that thoroughly analyses the initiatory
background in which the actions of a hero in a fantastic tale take place.
In his book, The Hero: A Study in Tradition, Myth, and Drama, Lord
Raglan (1956) established twenty-two episode-events from the analysis of
which, in the case of a traditional hero, one reaches the conclusion that
the history of such a hero is not concerned with real incidents in a man’s
life, but rather with ritual incidents in the career of a ritual character. The
history of the traditional hero is “the history of his ritual progress”. His
victories, that are different from those of the king (the latter being a
historical hero), precede his accession to the throne (just as in the case of
the fantastic tale hero). Lord Raglan perceives this hero as being different
from the hero in a given tale and the historical hero. He ends his career by
losing his throne, by being expelled from his kingdom, and by dying under
mysterious circumstances. (In many fantastic tales or in variants of
historical legends, the hero finds himself in a similar situation.)
In this type of situation, it would be worthwhile to investigate whether
or not the given hero lives his life stage by stage - and certain folkloric
species or categories pinpoint such stages in the hero’s existence - or
whether or not heroes who are viewed in complementary situations make
up the life model of a typical hero, one specific to a given culture.
Starting from Hahn and Raglan’s works, Dutch folklorist, Jan de Vries,
identified ten elements that he considered to be critical for the scheme of a
so-called hero. De Vries considers that hero legends and epics are myths of
a society and a culture developing in relation to a cult of heroes. In his
vision, heroic myths and legends change into tales through a change in
social perspective rather than through a formal structural mutation.
Urbanization entails the historical rolling down of heroic song and myth
from the center of culture to its periphery.
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In his “Biographical Patterns in Traditional Narrative” (1948), Archer
Taylor showed that the mythical hero’s biographical diagram actually fits
the miraculous adventures of the hero of a fantastic tale.
C. G. Jung and C. Kerény (1968) make a few interesting remarks about
“the divine child” as a mythological hero. The mythological figure does not
stand for a biological age. Instead, he represents the very essence of
divinity. Maturity is the simplest visual expression of his temporal and
eternal existence. He does not get old and die. The mythological hero has
exceptional qualities from his very birth, being in no way inferior to mature
deities. Without commenting upon the psychoanalytical data in the work of
the previously mentioned authors, one must keep in mind the strange role
that the hero’s mother has to play in regard to her son. She exists and
does not exist at the same time. She abandons her child and dies, a
situation that causes the little boy to become an orphan loved by the gods.
Numerous remarks can be made about the hero and his various
hypostases in different cultures. The present study does not analyze the
status of the hero in legends, tales, or myths; however, the point made
above will be useful further on, when, through an analysis of a number of
texts of legends, it will become possible to stress the fundamental
differences between the mythological or traditional hero and the legendary
protagonist, springing either from dogmatic sources, or from apocryphal
sources of the “official religion”.
The sphere of the notion of folklore is as large as that covered by
cultural anthropology, but only in order to draw attention to the
complexity of the folk creation phenomenon and to underline what will
always be considered as the poetic text which accompanies any folkloric
manifestation in the cultural context to which it belongs. Such
phenomena, and mainly those which have to do with consciousness,
cannot be considered statistically or individually. A “social product” is
multivalent, multifunctional, and integrated into a relational chain no link
of which can be broken or neglected without serious consequences for the
identity of the product and of its consumers. Therefore, in the present
study, the main concern is what is called folk literature or literary folklore,
even though these classifications are not specific and sufficiently
representative for the phenomenon. Folk literature includes prose and
poetry in the forms of tales, stories, narratives, recollections, legends, any
kind of epic songs – hero epic or ballad – poems, cradle songs, children’s
texts and games, riddles, proverbs, texts related to any type of ritual,
myths, texts to be found in the practice of various beliefs and customs,
incantations, exorcisms, dances accompanying texts – in short, any text
which uses the word, the “verbal art”, as an expressive means.
Most researchers in folk literature ascribe a prevailing importance to
the oral circulation of this product. Oral transmission provides greater
chances for anonymity and variability. However, orality in itself is not in a
position to establish the affiliation of a given text with folk literature. The
oral (what is spoken or told) is usually opposed to the printed (written,
published, photographed, filmed, etc.) quality of a text. By operating a
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reduction, one discovers that one is actually talking of a transmission and
reception system through audio and visual means having specific
consequences in regard to memorizing capacity and possibilities for
reconstitution, and beyond all these, regarding a manifestation mode
typical of creative and consuming communities, expressed by their
individual members. The existence, at a mental level, of the folkloric text is
not a narrative-coagulated entity, the details of which can evolve into fine
semantic distinctions, as in the case of literature by a specific author. This
existence takes place at the level of the mental model, linked to the
relatively fixed form of the motif, to species structures, and to the
components and the meanings of rituals. Also linked to this mental
existence is the capacity to produce variants. However, a lucid
identification has to be performed in the case of ritual species which,
although orally conveyed, have an obvious intransigence related to form
ossification, that has to preserve the sacred functions and the mythical or
religious values (depending upon the given situation). To them one can add
the whole adjacent arsenal which often has a printed form, even though it
belongs to folklore.
Viewed from this angle, orality as a means of transmission is not more
adequate for the folk text than it is for an author’s text, even if this means
of transmission is used predominantly in the case of folk texts. In the case
of oral transmission, once the folk text is interpreted, it becomes
irreversible and cannot be repeated in the same form. The fact of printing
facilitates the re-consulting of a form as it was established by the author,
but does not exclude the turning of the respective text into a folk product
whenever circumstance call for such a phenomenon to occur. The folk
individual appropriates, reshapes, assimilates, and adapts the product
that he or she needs.
At present, the most obvious phenomenon of this type can be observed
by studying certain romance texts and by assimilating certain poor quality
pictures or novels. The existence and the analysis of the motif at the level
of the relationship and the mental model, irrespective of the specific form
in which the author wraps a certain idea, lead to the attestation of facts
that are affiliated not only to the folklore of the second millennium, but
also to folk creation occurring a very long time ago. In fact, what is being
evoked is a set of cultural models, the universality of which no longer
needs to be proved. These models belong to that initial revelation of which
the great contemporary religions speak and make up the so-called
resistance structures of world culture.
It is certain that not everything that is transmittable is necessarily
folklore, while, at the same time, forms of folklore exist that cannot be
transmitted orally.
The creator has a well-distinguished attitude toward the concept of
paternity. Ritual species and ceremonial species with ritual implications
are never presented as personal creations. In the latter cases, the norm
instituted by the ritual does not allow for any innovation (innovation does
work, but in a wider temporal frame). The metric structure, the mental
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model, and the elements of language belong to the information stock of the
individual and have been absorbed during his or her education in the folk
community, while he evolved from childhood to maturity. The use of the
information acquired in these circumstance is only natural within the
creative act, in the same way that it is equally natural for any individual to
make use of information that he or she has obtained in school, regardless
of his or her specific profession as, for instance, a physicist, a chemist, a
biologist, or a philologist. The folk product reception and recognition
mechanism is linked to the affiliation of the individual to a cultural group
and to his or her quality as an insider.
This subtle shift from folk creation to creation by an author, from a
folkloric to an individualistic feeling, from the attitude of a creator to that
of a consumer in distant historical ages, among which the Middle Ages
prove to be very interesting, was achieved by Paul Zumthor (1972) and
Jacques Le Goff (1986) in the case of French culture, as well as by
Alexandru Duţu (1972, p. 50), for Romanian culture:
In the age we are studying, ...copyright ...functions very seldom,
while writing starts to be a means of expressing an individual vision
only in the Nineteenth Century and not before. Until very late,
originality appears as a result rather than as an original impulse,
namely to the extent to which the works that were achieved
integrated in[to] a complex of specific concerns for society at a
certain point. Otherwise, it would be strange if we still asked
ourselves why The Adventures of Telemachus are circulated without
Fénelon’s name.
The opinion of the consuming community is of greater complexity.
Although this community is relatively passive during the act of creation
and is latently accumulative toward what it stores in its own treasury of
cultural goods, the community recognizes, within certain limits of time and
space, a number of links between the creator and the created piece, mainly
because the number of valuable creators in a given folk community is
rather small. The moment when a folk product appears, it relates to a
special event which mobilizes its creator. The product begins to have the
creator’s trademark and is delimited in time and space. In a sort of “shift”
from the cultural element, i.e., a collective product with a passive
existence, to its take-over and use by the creative individual, the
anonymity of folk creation lies somewhere in-between. An important role is
played by the collective memory, which only preserves what is of interest
for the group and has a perennial value, on the one hand assimilating the
information, on the other hand, neglecting the creator when he or she is no
longer significant.
The issue of paternity has large historical and social implications. In the
Eighteenth and even in the Nineteenth Centuries, in order to increase
interest in a literary work, to envelop its authors in a mysterious halo or to
protect themselves from potentially unpleasant consequences, the authors
in question would conceal the real paternity of certain literary and even
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scientific works. In earlier ages, when communities were relatively closed
(as in the cases, for instance, of feudal courts and of literary circles) and
wide distribution systems did not exist, authors might be so well-known to
their specific groups that the formal registration of their names was not
necessary. Such a product, that was the object of restricted distribution,
that was familiar to a relatively closed circle of people, and was easily
recognizable by means of its style and its preferred theme, actually
foreshadowed a situation currently known in folk circles. The situation was
the same for the minstrels and the troubadours of medieval courts.
There are no set borders between literary folklore and authored
literature, but rather a permanent exchange which takes place slowly, but
surely, and with mutual benefit.
The issue of paternity was also raised on the occasion of the publication
of the first folk texts in previous centuries. The collectors and editors in
these times were good informers and creators having a healthy sense of
initiative. The fact that it was impossible to faithfully render a folk text
according to the variants received from different informants caused these
first collectors to become high quality informants themselves.
The variant is a materialization of the motif that is restricted by species
functionality. But variability also functions in the case of authored
literature up to a certain point, meaning that, until the final form of the
work is completed, the author makes up a number of variants relying on
his own model. As in the case of orality and anonymity, what is different is
the extent to which the phenomenon manifests itself, not its absence or
presence.
The circulation of manuscripts of literary works in the Middle Ages
represents yet another form of variability expression that is close to folk
variability. The copyists who worked on texts were similar, in some
respects, to folk creators. Their work, too, was influenced by a whole list of
elements such as education, temperament, creative capacity, social
command, fashion, public taste, etc.
From the angle of the history of the creation of the product of folk
literature, the collective nature is obvious, such efforts assembling
essences produced throughout many generations of creators. If perceived
from this standpoint, culture as a whole has a collective character. The
progressive element appears when the community has gathered together
sufficient information (which means all types of knowledge, aesthetic, and
informational values) to be able to afford a quality leap toward a new value,
bringing about a new informational and value-related perspective. The
cultural product becomes a collective asset, prepared to undergo
refinement for the creation of a new product (technical, scientific, and
artistic). Choice is an individual act, but at the folk level, the initiative of
the creative individual is limited by the functional needs of the community.
The general stock of instruments is collective, while the moment at which a
folk product is created is individual. The performer is not obligated to
change his product, but he has to comply during creation with the
requests of the community. Without such a relationship, there can be no
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communication between the individual and the group. The individual
resorts to the stock of collective goods preserved through tradition, which
make up his personal information, since he is a product and at the same
time a representative of the group. Collective goods are marks and working
materials in any creation.
The major innovation is determined by the function, a historical and
social parameter, which in its turn develops from the needs of the group.
Each human existence is an individual – a biological body, a complex
structure with physiological and psychological manifestations and
responses in a full process of change – and at the same time a person – a
complex of relationships with society. Social personality changes
throughout one’s life. In this twofold capacity, the creator/performer of folk
goods appeals to the treasury of cultural goods of the society or of the
group, fitting variably and unequally into the above-mentioned
parameters. Such is the case of folk creation and its producers, as well as
of colportage and of apocryphal and popular creation.
The legend and all its divisions, given the context of Southeastern
European culture, have developed in lands having an old Christian
(Orthodox) tradition, that has been functioning as an existential truth and
norm for its communities in the whole of Southeastern Europe for a
millennium-and-a-half. In addition to the canonical books or teachings,
such a knowledge stock also included the deuterocanonical, apocryphal
information specific to the same Southeastern European region that is
ethnically diverse and at the same time unitary in terms of faith and
beliefs.
For the societies of the Middle Ages, the folk or the popular category,
the latter being better suited at least in such a special context, is not
pertinent. Communities of different sizes had varying methods of
distribution, other than the rapid and technical means of the Twentieth
Century. These methods suited the informational needs of social groups in
these pre-modern times. In manuscript or in printed form, all kinds of
literature reached out to restricted groups where, through what is called a
collective reading, it was circulated, distributed, and assimilated. Collective
reading of this sort was tremendously important for the dissemination of
any kind of information in the medieval age, at least in Southeastern
Europe.
Collective reading was practiced by qualified persons who were literate
in and familiar with the language in which the information was presented.
Each large or small community or social group had one or several such
readers (depending upon needs), who not only transmitted the information
to the other members of the group, but also worked as selectors and
interpreters of the information in question. The amount of information
available to this reader/selector was not, of course, large by present-day
standards, but it was sufficient to cover needs for the new, the ethical, and
the aesthetic that might appear anytime and anyplace. In like manner, it
was sufficient to offer explanations and to provide answers to the great
existential questions that every human community feels the need to ask.
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Moreover, the information obtained in this way was complemented by the
information obtainable from the paintings, icons, and mosaics that
adorned the interiors of religious edifices.
In order to warrant social communication and to preserve
administrative, cultural, moral, and legal unity, this information had to be
highly coherent and unitary. In the Middle Ages, it was disseminated by
the religious structure, which was normative and restrictive and which, in
Southeastern Europe, had an Orthodox and Byzantine extraction. A book
that was printed or copied in manuscript form in a number of copies used
to circulate through this collective reading from one province to another, or
even from country to country, while its translator, copyist, and reader was
often one and the same. The designation, popular book, was given to this
type of literature. As the category itself was obviously heterogeneous, in so
far as theme and functions were concerned, such a book was more likely
to be a metaphorical label attempting to bring together a large cultural
diversity. Attempts at theme- or contents-related classifications are scanty,
because such writing is necessarily multifunctional and embodies a whole
set of values. Its message cannot be univocal, but multidirectional.
In our view, popular books, with the meaning of “widely circulated
books”, assimilated by the folk group and receiving scientific credit from
the folk community, could include books on astrology and divination,
books on weather, and books of riddles. These books circulated in princely
courts (for instance, Prince Constantin Brâncoveanu instructed John the
Romanian to compile foreign calendars containing this kind of
information), but also among the literati of the time. Even as early as the
Sixteenth Century, Romanian manuscript copies of books on divination
and weather forecasting as well as zodiacs and astrological calendars
began to be circulated in the Romanian territories.
Chronographs, those “universal histories from the beginning of the
world”, which first followed Biblical chronology and then presented the
history of Byzantium and of the Ottoman Empire, also started to circulate
in manuscript form in the Sixteenth Century. They were translations from
Slavonic of certain Byzantine variants. The Seventeenth Century witnessed
the translation and the widespread copying of neo-Greek chronographs,
most of which were derived from the Chronograph by Monembassy
Dorotheus or from that by Cigalas. Legends derived from the Bible about
ancient or contemporary heroes were circulated through such writings,
along with other legends disseminated through large-circulation popular
novels in the Middle Ages about the fall of Troy, Jerusalem, and
Byzantium; the Seven Children of Ephesus, Alexander the Great, etc.
Chronographs continued to exist until the Nineteenth Century, being
reproduced or interpolated in court or boyars’ chronicles.
The most comprehensive category of popular books consisted of popular
novels by anonymous or known authors. These novels were: pseudohistorical (The History of Troad), pseudo-historical and biographical
(Alexandria), picaresque-sagacious (Varlaam and Ioasaf, Archirie and
Anadan), sapiential-anecdotal (Till Eulenspiegel, Bertoldo’s Life), picaresque
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211
(Skinder’s History), chivalrous (Erotocrytus, Imbery, and Margarone; Philerot
and Antusa) and “chain” novels (Sindipa; Halima).
The features of an ample narrative, like that of the popular novel, could
change. The narratives about Alexander started as history, continued as
legend, and ended up as novel fiction. Factual historicity fades out and
gives way to the fabulous, received as such by the readers or the listeners.
The transition from one category to another, by a change in the
informational function, in the quality of information, in the credibility, in
the degree of verisimilitude, and in the educational-formative quality is
linked to and is determined by the historical age when the narrative
appears, is taken over, and is reassessed. But there can be no
segmentation of sets of fixed theme categories accurately delimited. Each
novel can affiliate with several categories at the same time. It is up to the
researcher to choose one aspect with a predominant weight for his or her
study.
Among the apocryphal texts, chronographic literature, and popular
novels, permanent exchanges, motif and theme migrations, and creative
take-overs occurred which, given the religious moment when they took
place, worked as religious, historical, and even scientific truths. The cycle
is restored by the insertion of folk extraction models which, in their turn,
materialize by taking over the substance circulated through these books.
Specialized literature has always analyzed popular books in the close
vicinity of writings known as apocryphal texts, the scope of which,
although confusing for literary historians, seems quite clear from the
theological angle.
Assessing the material under scrutiny with the eyes of a literary
historian who has read a great deal in adjacent fields, Nicolae Cartojan
(1938, p. 115) offers the following definition of apocryphal literature:
books about which nothing is said until then (until the moment of
their appearance, in the first centuries of the Christian age...) and
which appeared all of a sudden from various regions of the Christian
world, under the glorious names of Old or New Testament
personalities and claiming to possess the new teachings of a prophet
or an apostle.
While not necessarily covering all the theological possibilities and quite
wide in terms of contents, this definition appeared to be good enough to be
adopted by the history of literature and by cultural personalities. The
notion ought to be re-discussed from a theological angle so as to
harmonize the contents with what is theologically accepted, for within a
unitary culture, terminological meanings need to be very accurate and
concise whenever they are to be given technical value.
From the point of view adopted in this study, until a competent analysis
is made of apocrypha according to their correct, theological acceptation as
well as according to their role in culture and implicitly in terms of folk
culture, any comment or assertion in this field has to be taken with a grain
of salt. Certainly, this category will not be integrated into the sphere of folk
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books because, irrespective of their theological status, they are much too
close to the sacred texts and to their theological meanings to be changed
into goods which exist in incidences of uncontrolled variability and
individual innovations. Moreover, the contents of their themes, which can
have certain folkloristic affinities, as well as the functional perspectives of
apocrypha, hagiographies, and apocalypses serve the sacred and either
support the canonical view or specifically the attitude of various heresies
toward this view. These books are linked to the rite and serve the cult in
various circumstances.
To establish the extent to which popular books are or are not folklore is
a blunt approach to the matter. In order to find out to what extent they
belong to folklore or to authorial literature, one needs a detailed analysis of
each and every section in regard to all the previously mentioned
parameters. These parameters have been analyzed and discussed by
folklorists rather than by literary theorists or historians.
Folklorists took over categories, genres, and species, which proved to be
imperfect and unsatisfactory as the result of close analyses carried out by
specialists, as shown at the beginning of this study. Such a revision
represents a very difficult task, for it must eliminate all the deadwood
consisting of routine, the large quantity of material that has been collected
empirically and studied according to norms that are considered classic,
and the lack of theoretical unity of the various folkloristic schools and
trends. Those experts who placed popular books in a category of literary
creation placed in the transition area between folk and authorial literature
took the right step. Such transition areas, in which specific spheres start
shaping their profiles until borders begin to melt away, can be found in all
types of phenomena, not only cultural phenomena, but biological
phenomena as well.
The decision by which a certain phenomenon or creation is attributed to
one specific category has an obvious historical implication. A product can
or cannot be folklore in a certain stage of development of the social group
consuming it. In their turn, the components of the product need to be seen
in a different perspective. It can happen that the structuring of the motifs,
the episodes, and the genres and species can belong to folk literature,
while the product belongs to authorial literature. Enactors also comply
with historical laws and are either sacred characters, legendary or
civilizing heroes, or mere heroes created by an act of fiction typical of tales.
From the correlation of an enacting complex with the plausible to the
miraculous, factually different species are affiliated to folk, authorial, or
colportage literature, as well as to popular books.
The distinctions operating in literary history and, generally speaking, in
all the cultural fields are useful in terms of study and systematization.
Objectively, one thinks that the literary phenomenon should be viewed as
a continuum, the elements of which are complementary and can only be
separated by conventional barriers.
The whole corpus of legends in a given culture makes up “an alphabet
of ideas”. A popular science encyclopedia is preserved in oral eschatological
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213
legends, in historical legends, in legends about supernatural beings and
powers, and in religious legends on gods and heroes. A group of “talelegends” about God and St. Peter, also found in international typologies,
the components and affiliation of which should be reanalyzed and
refocused, given the presence of certain characters the sacred nature of
whom is a reality for a large portion of the world population. A thorough
analysis might very well reveal a common origin for most of these texts
having contents that are highly unitary in Europe, an origin linked to the
same Middle Ages that have been evoked several times before, in this
study.
The next few pages will raise certain points about the terms “religion”
and “religious”, which have frequently been confused with “Christian”.
Sometimes, indeed, academic literature uses the term, religion, to
designate a category of legends.
In Latin, religionis had the following older meaning: fear, scruple, and
mainly, religious scruple. Cicero uses the phrase “religionem alicui injicere”,
meaning to instil a sentiment of fear, a scruple, into somebody. From this
meaning, two further meanings developed: on the one hand that of
religion, on the other, that of rite or ceremony. It was again Cicero who
stated that “justice to the gods (toward the gods) is religion”: “Justitia erga
deos religio dicitur”. By the phrase, “religione templum liberare”, Titus Livius
meant “to purge a temple through a ceremony”. The word also means
holiness, deity, oracle, (soldierly) honour, thorough care and delicacy, as
can be inferred from Cicero’s text: “Religio officii” = holiness in doing one’s
duty; “Religio vitae” = holiness of life, etc. Religiose used to mean piously,
scrupulously, with holiness. Religiosum, -a, -um, had an old meaning of
“superstitious” and only later started to mean “religious, holy, hallowed”. (I.
Nădejde, n.d., p. 572). Initially, the term used for “religious” was religeia.
Even from these brief quotations, it is easy to observe the way in which the
fundamental meaning and its derivatives were preserved in the language of
that time and how far they have evolved from the acceptance given by
folklorists to the term, “religious”, with the restricted meaning of
“Christian”. There are even fewer grounds for the existence of religious
legends as a category, as the legend relies on a whole religious system
which has to be unitary, coherent, and specific to the community.
Many experts mention the existence of a religious feeling, given by the
vision of religion. Religion as a notion is complex and contains a number of
forms: the religious doctrine or dogma (the outlook or the idea we have
about God and about our relationship with Him); religious discipline and
morality (the life and organizational rules of a religious society, deriving
from the respective dogma); and the religious cult (the forms through
which the community expresses or tries to achieve its link to the Divine).
In any religion, there is a close link between the religious outlook or idea,
the doctrine or the dogma, and the cult as an expressive means for the
religious feeling. Such interdependencies entail a multitude of cultural
rites and ceremonies attested in various religions, the diversity of which is
determined by the diversity of the ideas people have or have had about
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divinity throughout the years. Even within the limits of one and the same
religion, like the forms of Christianity, for example, each confession has its
specific cultural forms, a modus operandi of its own, matching the
respective dogma and spirit which actually inspire it. The great historical
branches
of
Christianity
(Orthodoxy,
Roman-Catholicism,
and
Protestantism of different nuances) are different from one another, not only
through their beliefs and doctrinal teachings as well as through their
organization, but also through their cults, which assume various forms,
and therefore, in their turn, bear a confessional stamp.
Theologians distinguish between an internal cult, that is subjective or
theological, with an individual and spiritual (hidden, invisible) character,
and an external cult, expressed through visible forms, religious acts, and
rites. The cult is therefore ritual through its very existence, having a
collective and social nature. The two forms of existence of the cult have to
live together in harmony and continuity in order to avoid ritualism,
formalism, bigotry, or other pseudo-religious forms which risk turning into
mechanical practices.
It would be useful to reanalyse almost all the allegedly traditional,
folkloric, and ancient rituals, for which recent research has discovered an
exclusively Pagan, pre-Christian origin, and to see whether or not they
encode those initial forms of the Christian Holy Tradition that were so
specific to the Byzantine rite Orthodox Church in the area. There are
expressive forms of the Orthodox cult, known to Byzantine hymnography,
as “a true versified theological encyclopedia, or a popularized theology
under the guise of hymns and poetry” preserved through the Holy
Tradition in its popular forms (Ene Branişte, 1985, pp. 56-57).
As William A. Lessa and Evon A. Vogt (1965) have stated in their Reader
in Comparative Religion,
Three things appear to distinguish man from all other living
creatures: the systematic making of tools, the use of abstract
language, and religion.... All religions also represent a response to
the wonder and the terror of the ineluctable processes of nature.
Even the Communists, as it has often been said, have their secular
religions. While they repudiate the supernatural, they give allegiance
in feeling as well as in thought to a body of doctrine that purports to
provide life with a fairly immediate meaning. Nor is Communism
without its ritual and ceremonial sides.
This same volume, that assembles a diverse set of hypotheses about the
origins of religious symbolism and about the dynamics and methodological
prospects used in religious research, also includes a lucid and temperate
remark to the effect that: the origins of religion can only be speculated
upon and never discovered. Theories relying on impressive demonstrations
and using subtle imaginative models can only persuade readers
temporarily and make them believe that they have found the answer to the
problems that have been raised. Lucid and thorough reflections on the
results of research can only lead to the conclusion that these are mere
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215
assumptions made by researchers. This conclusion does not mean
imply that specialists should give up their investigations. They ought
merely see them as hypotheses able to make the understanding
religious phenomena somewhat easier.
From a secular perspective, Emile Durkheim’s definition of religion
satisfactory (in, Lessa and Vogt, 1965, p. 59):
to
to
of
is
A religion is a unified system of beliefs and practices relative to
sacred things, that is to say, things set apart and forbidden, beliefs
and practices which unite into one single moral community called a
Church all those who adhere to them.
Religion is, therefore, a collective phenomenon par excellence. From a
dynamic perspective, Robert N. Bellah, a highly regarded researcher,
proposes the subdivision of religious activity into five ideal typical stages:
primitive, archaic, historical, early modern, and modern. Throughout these
stages, religious systems have evolved from a compact to a complex
structure. For what he calls limited purposes, Bellah defines religion as “a
set of symbolic forms and acts which relate man to the ultimate conditions
of his existence” (in, Lessa and Vogt, 1965, p. 73). If animals or prereligious man could passively endure the limits and sufferings enforced by
existence, primitive religious man could, to a certain extent, transcend and
control these situations owing to his symbolizing capacity, therefore
acquiring a relative freedom from the environment.
Archaic religion tends to draw up a vast cosmology with a specific place
for all things, divine and natural (non-divine) alike. All religions evolving in
the historical period are comparatively recent. They can be found in more
or less literate societies and are subsumed within the incidence of history
rather than of archaeology or ethnography. All historical religions are, to a
certain sense, transcendental. Early modern religion is characterized, in
Bellah’s view, by a “collapse” of the hierarchical structure of the two
worlds: this one and the netherworld. Modern religion represents a stage of
religious development which is radically different in many respects from
historical religion. The center of change is the collapse of precisely that
dualism which used to be the focal point of historic religion.
Although this periodic division of religious manifestations in society is
as artificial as any abstract, scientific constructs, drawn up for the use of
scientific analysis and less related to empirical complexity and reality, the
author’s point should be borne in mind, for it is useful that such a
schematic presentation of the stages of religious evolution enable one to
notice, as one stage gives way to the next, the way in which the
emancipation of the human personality and of society increases in relation
to the surrounding environment and circumstances. This remark assists
one in understanding the role of legend in religious society, to see to what
extent it represents a release for an individual who, although uneducated,
is a believer and practices an “official” religion, respecting the dogmatic
truth, without always understanding it in its full complexity and depth.
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S. ISPAS
If we take Bellah’s systematization into account, Orthodoxy ranks as
one of the great monotheistic religions. Legend, with all its subcategories,
can appear during the later stages, only after the first centuries of the
existence of the Christian religion have freed its manifestation, i.e., after
the patristic period. For this reason, the apocryphal element is present and
often marks texts of legends.
From a theological, Christian, and Orthodox perspective, religion is
“Man’s conscious relationship with the supernatural and its expression
through visible forms and gestures”, or “the perfect synthesis of the
highest functions of the soul, in the service of two ideas: that of God and
that of man’s relationship with Him” (I. G. Savin and I. Mihălcescu, n.d.,
pp. 42-43).
Not even this definition limits religion to Christianity. Thus, one fails to
see why it is necessary to delimit a category of “religious” legends and thus
forcibly imply that only those legends the contents of which are linked to
Christian dogma or theology are truly religious legends. Instead, it is
preferable to accept the idea that the legend is predominantly a narrative
species which relies on a religious system and has to inform the
community about allegedly true facts and phenomena, not from the angle
of science, but rather from a vision that accepts other coordinates of truth,
from which the miraculous is far from absent. Such a religious system
must be predominant for a given community, as it provides living norms
and information communication methods, which means it must be known
to everybody, thus becoming the “official religion” to which Heda Jason
(1978) refers.
Since it is actually a folk material, like all products of this type, the
legend can collect information from different historical stages and from
various sources that must, however, be subordinated to the “official
religion” in order to receive authority and credibility. From such an angle,
one can observe that legend as a whole is religious, and only the strictly
historical informational narratives, describing events that are totally
detached from the miraculous, can be considered historical legends and
can include a number of toponymic or onomastic narratives linked to
events considered to be real in the lives of certain characters with a real,
historically attested, existence. In this way, the legend can recapture its
initial meaning and, as is only natural, the best preserved meaning
precisely in those narrative categories which explain phenomena and
events from a religious perspective. In addition to being a reading material
for the religious service or for meals, the legend again becomes a narrative
allegedly based on facts and incorporating traditional materials told about
persons, places, incidents, etc.
On the other hand, the various narratives about King Solomon or about
the creation of the earth and of those who inhabit it are also legends based
on Christian information in the Bible or the deuterocanonical books, in
popular books, in parables, or in words like those mentioned above. Not
even the other thematic subdivisions of the legend – mythical or
BALKAN FOLK TRADITIONS
217
mythological, etiological, and eschatological - are able to support the
coherence and individuality of the true legend.
Indeed, it is possible to argue that mythology has not been able to
function, at least in European societies, when the Christian faith was
predominant and official. One cannot consider the mythological roots of
certain representations or the presence of various motifs or themes in
ancient literature to be in the Christian age. Myth is a text which
accompanies the rite and belongs to a religious system. It is only when
what is called mythology (i.e., another manifestation of religion which is
not part of the modern or contemporary religions currently known as great
and active monotheistic or polytheistic religions practiced in the so-called
civilized world) works as an official religion that one can truly say that one
is confronted with a mythological legend, meaning a legend based on the
respective community, one that is usually described as primitive.
In an attempt to de-Christianize Romanian culture, the period from
1947 to 1989 witnessed the publication of several works of Romanian
mythology. They were representative of several efforts to systematize
certain popular forms and representations which the authors of the books
in question considered to be “non-Christian” merely because they did not
cite God and the saints by name and probably also because of the total
lack of theological education and information on the part of the authors.
They overlooked the existence of possible affiliations, meanings, symbols,
and even representations of Christian extraction upon which these popular
forms relied or still rely.
If the texts from which the so-called mythological representations
detached themselves had been carefully analyzed, it would have been a
simple matter to discover the Christian affiliation which led to the changes
in their initial significance and meaning at least fifteen hundred years ago.
The incorporation of the old pre-Christian meanings into all the images
evoked in written texts and in Christian iconographic painting is not
denied, but the meanings in question underwent truly critical changes
when they were used by Christian theologians. Thus, to overlook precisely
those meanings which were used culturally during the last millenniumand-a-half, is a serious deviation from the principles of scientific, objective
analysis and interpretation. For this reason, it is important to summarize
the situation of Eastern rite and Byzantine extraction Christianity and its
relationship with other forms of cultural manifestation, implicitly with the
frequently mentioned mythological representations which would give
substance to various legend texts labelled as mythological.
According to the order of universal creation, Christian theology first
established the genesis of “the unseen world”, inhabited by angels in
several groups and finding themselves in different hierarchical positions.
They are “serving spirits – “duh”, the Romanian term for “spirit”, translated
from the Hebrew, “ruah”, meaning “breath” or “wind”. Among them, one
can also identify their chieftains, the archangels. But one of them is the
haughty angel who revolts, for he wants to be like God. Archangel Michael
and his angels are then sent against him, and the dark angel, with his
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S. ISPAS
supporters, are thrown from Heaven into the abyss. This dark angel is
Satan, the spiritual being manifesting itself as the agent of evil throughout
the world. The fallen angels turn into dark demons working against God
and the people whom He wants to redeem. To cause the people to perish,
the fallen angel changes into an “angel of light”, while his numerous
servants assume “the face of servants of justice”. These evil spirits are
omnipresent in the verses of the Holy Book and act in a variety of ways.
They make up a veritable “legion” of devils, a legheon, to quote the term in
the Gospels according to St. Luke and St. Mark. From this source, one can
identify all the evil forms in the world that were assimilated into the six
thousand manifestation forms covered by the word, “legion”, in Latin. Each
one can be easily identified in the various so-called “mythological”
representations in the Southeastern European folk tradition.
In fact, all folk community members would consider such representations
as ghosts, phantoms, pixies, the Thursday hag, or St. Theodore’s horses as
devilish representations, satanic images sent out into the world to haunt
and to overwhelm man with wickedness and suffering. It is easy to prove
that these images of the demoniac forces haunting the human world, these
evil spirits, are familiar to Christian art, that dogmatists and theologians
are aware of the presence and the objective reality of such malevolent
manifestations, and that they fight against them through various prayers
and liturgical practices, in order to protect God’s work and creation.
The Gospels and the Deeds of the Apostles mention many cases in
which “bedevilled” people, i.e., sick persons inhabited by evil spirits, were
cured.
During the early centuries of Christianity, adults were christened. They
were considered to be people who were sufficiently mature to understand
the significance of this great mystery. In the order preceding Holy Baptism,
first come the so-called abjurations or ridding. The first one of these begins
with the following imprecation: “Rebuke yourself, you Devil..., be afraid, get
out and away from this work and never return to hide in it, oppose it, or
work against it day or night, morning or noon”. Notably, all the important
moments in the day are mentioned when various devilish forms can act –
the devil and “all his forces working together”, “the sly and evil spirit, the
spirit of deceit, the spirit of cunning, the spirit of [idolatrous] serving and of
all the greed, the spirit of lying and of all uncleanness” (Agiasmatar...,
1965, p. 25). These abjurations which precede the act of christening
contain specific forms for ridding the future Christian of Satan, all his
things, all his servants, and all his or her haughtiness, which not only
means all the serious sins instilled by the devil into man’s soul, but also all
the forms in which the devil could appear to man, material embodiments
through which man is assaulted, frightened, intimidated, and tempted to
stray from “the right path”.
When writing his teachings about Holy Baptism, Simeon Archbishop of
Salonika drew attention to the critical importance of abjurations:
BALKAN FOLK TRADITIONS
219
It is the duty of the priest to thoroughly read the holy prayers and to
recite them clearly and with moderation, so as to make himself well
heard. For those who are frightened by ghosts are often prone to
suffer, because the priests who christened them did not carefully
recite the devil-ridding prayers and all the other prayers
(Aghiasmatar..., 1965, p. 25).
Therefore, the existence in the world of those evil forces that were
perceived as devilish and satanic images was never denied or neglected by
the Church.
Old deities along with their manifestation forms, their images, and
various actions associated with subservient rituals became expressions of
the demoniac (the devilish) in the Christian theological sense. The power of
the saints and the martyrs to face moments of torture and attempts to
force them to abjure and to reconvert to old religions was interpreted as
resistance to Satan’s efforts to cause their souls to perish and to deny their
redemption. “The lying Gods”, the ancient idols, and the myths linked to
their lives and deaths became the substance needed to prove the infinity of
forms through which the devil acted upon man all over the world. The
image of this “popular” demonology is nothing but a manifested form of the
satanic in the world, which Christians consider as such and against which
the servants of the Church fight with such weapons as faith and the texts
in the Christian cult books.
The most significant of the texts which cause one to comprehend the
complexity of the image of this “legheon” against which the body and soul
of mankind need to be protected during earthly life is included in the
prayers of St. Basil the Great for those who suffer from the work of the
devil and from all helplessness. These prayers are to be read on St. Basil’s
day, that is, on New Year’s Day or on the day of “the circumcision of Our
Lord Jesus Christ”. While in the Old Testament circumcision is “a sign of
God’s pledge to Abraham” and is called “the circumcision vow”, the New
Testament brings up a metaphorical meaning to this expression; it is a
“circumcision of the heart, in the spirit rather than in the letter”. For
Christians, this circumcision is an inner “real circumcision”, the full work
of the faith and conversion to the belief in Christ, valid for the entire
human race, as this faith works “for the deeds of Christian love, the fruit of
grace, faith, and the efforts of the faithful together”.
The same meaning ought to be ascribed to the Christian New Year,
when Our Lord’s circumcision is celebrated. St. Basil’s prayers, read in the
Orthodox Church on this occasion, during the first day of the year and
corresponding to this spiritual baptism, are a ridding of all devilish powers,
performed by the whole community embodied by the people gathered in
the church. In addition to the sacred image of God’s power, this text
describes the multitude of shapes that can be assumed by the devil’s dark
power, while these images can be easily identified in the many
“mythological representations” put together by folklorists, like, for
instance, the evil spirits haunting a world undergoing the work of the
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S. ISPAS
wicked after giving in to original sin. For this reason, all the narratives the
function of which is to explain many of the phenomena of weather, human
suffering, topographic mutations, miraculous forms and structures, or the
aggressive actions of certain obscure forces, which make up the substance
of traditional legends, are in fact linked to the religious and even
specifically to the Christian religion.
Along with a wide variety of information obtained in response to a
questionnaire conceived and circulated by Bogdan Petriceicu Hasdeu, it is
possible to substantiate what has been said so far with some significant
data. Thus, the dark angel turned into the devil “was once God’s angel. As
he sinned before God, he was thrown into an abyss, into hell, where he
established another kingdom”. He is “a wicked, evil spirit”, “a being that
cannot be seen”, “an evil-breeding apparition”, “a sort of ghost”, “a breath,
a fume which takes the shape of various beings”, but is at the same time
“man’s worst enemy” (Ion Muşlea and Ovidiu Bîrlea, 1970, pp. 163-175).
It is interesting to notice the appearance, in certain traditions of
precisely this specifically Christian idea of the creation, in the first place, of
the unseen world to which this angel, who was thrown into hell because of
his haughtiness, belongs. “They were angels” (the devils...) or, “He was
once God’s angel. As he sinned before God, he was thrown into an abyss,
into hell, where he established another kingdom”. Devils are made “out of
angels who did not respect God’s will, were thrown into the abyss; their
skin turned black, and they grew horns and tails”; “In the beginning, when
there was nothing on the earth, there was only God and the devil...”; “He is
left by God and not made of beings who live on the earth...” (Muşlea and
Bîrlea, 1970, pp. 185-189).
If one carefully peruses the observations appearing in the volume which
sums up the answers to B. P. Hasdeu’s questionnaire about the devil’s full
image, made up of the forms he assumes, the place where he lives or acts,
the actions he takes against people and their belongings, one can discover
that he is a veritable synthesis of the image of evil in the world and of the
consequences of evil actions upon the human race. All these representations
that folklorists and ethnographers include in what they call “mythological
representations” are particular manifestation forms of the diabolical and
satanic image in the world. They are forms of the six thousand embodiments
assumed by the devilish “legheon”. Thus, the Elf, who “is also called the
Devil”, is “an evil, wicked spirit, a bad and supernatural being, the devil’s
face, with a devilish power”, taking the face of the various animals the devil
also turns into and “having the power to be near man without being seen
and to take something from him without being felt”. When he serves man,
“he has a deal with the master to choose one soul he will like”; “he who has
an elf is sold to the devil”, “rids himself of the law”, “never goes to church”;
“none of those in the house says prayers or crosses himself”, while “after
death the master goes to the devil, who takes control of his soul and body”
(Muşlea and Bîrlea, 1970, pp. 189-194).
Dragons are sometimes confused with many-headed snakes or with
goblins. They are considered to be “big devils, with tails and wings, turned
BALKAN FOLK TRADITIONS
221
into snakes”, i.e., demoniacal beings, but can also be in the service of St.
Ilie, helping him fight the devils and flying through the air: “first the
dragon’s lightning, then the saint’s thunder”. They are linked to flashing
light. Often enough they are considered “gales or storms” and they “come
out to the evil spirit of men who die during heavy rains or tempests, while
their spirit goes up in the clouds, where they fight it until they break it”.
The many-headed dragon is “a big snake fallen from the clouds, from the
sky”. Like the plain dragon, he is associated with flight, water, and storms:
“he flies through the air and the clouds”. The place where he lives is quite
close to that of the devil: in the mountains, near waters and wells, in
swamps, rivers, lakes, or “on the islets”. Controlled by and subordinated to
the wizard, he becomes frightened and runs away when he hears church
bells ringing, just like the devil.
The goblin, who is sometimes mixed up with the dragon, is “a face, an
apparition, or the ghost of a lover”, “a hallucination”, or a fear-crazed being
who renders ill and kills all the people around him. Like other
hallucinations, he is also linked to flight, darkness, and light.
Among the feminine embodiments of a demoniac extraction one can
find the Forest Hag, who is “a spirit, a phantom, or a ghost with the face of
a woman”, a shadow, “a being with devilish skills, of an evil or wicked
spirit”, and who can assume a number of identities, being, for instance, a
“nightly fright” who stays hidden during the day and can sometimes be
seen at the skirt of the forest or at the crossroads. All these devilish
apparitions or images are to be found at the crossroads or at the
boundaries. In order to prevent the evil actions caused by such
embodiments, Southeastern Europeans, until a few decades ago, used to
protect such exposed spaces by means of crosses or triptychs.
The Thursday Hag is also “an imaginary being”, “an ugly fright” who
cannot be seen, and who is able “to turn into fog, a bull, a dog, or a rolling
wheel”. The most complex feminine devilish embodiments are the pixies,
beautiful spirits linked to the idea of flight and floating through the air,
who are seen as fantastic, supernatural, evil-doing, and evil beings, “sorts
of devils”, wicked spirits of diabolical origin who “have wings and fly”,
dressed in white robes, who wear crowns, are invisible (bodiless), but
become visible at night. Similar to other devilish representations, pixies
can also be found living in the air, in the sky, in the woods, in caves, or on
various rocks, in the mountains, near waters, or at crossroads. They are
highly detrimental to people when they meet them, but can also seduce
them and force them to become their servants or slaves.
It is very difficult to draw up an exhaustive list of the forms through
which traditional culture designates demoniacal images and their way of
acting against people. Only a few examples have been cited. Alongside
these examples, one should also consider traditions and beliefs linked to
the animal and vegetal kingdoms, the images related to cosmology,
meteorology, etc., and all the information about the concepts of life and
death which actually make up the philosophical and religious basis of all
popular legends. Thus it is necessary to revise the latest “mythological”
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systems that have been so generously assembled by certain experts who
appeal only to information about ancient ages and some comparative
grounds provided by archaic societies, while completely overlooking
European medieval culture.
In a chapter in a book of prayers for all sorts of needs one finds prayers
“for the house that is troubled by evil spirits” and “for the house or the
place troubled by spells or exorcisms”. Such “haunted” spaces gave
substance to many legends included in various theme chapters of the
species and which upon close analysis proved to have an obviously
religious content. The legend, in question, still appears to derive from a
sacred and at the same time truthful sphere, if viewed from a religious
angle.
Christian theology is highly profound. Its understanding requires
complex and systematic instruction of a kind not very accessible to
ordinary people. Since, in a general sense, theology is “teaching about
God”, it offered marks of understanding to all its practitioners, so that in
the medieval age, not only the clergy, but many cultivated, instructed, and
refined laymen, capable of sophisticated thinking, could prove to be good
theologians. Thus, among the participants in the 1437 Ferrara Synod,
where never-ending debates took place on the question of the union of the
churches, there were lay delegates, such as Neagoe Bassarab, who
represented Moldavia, along with the Metropolitan Bishop, Damian, and
the Protopope, Constantine, and a lay delegate of high social status, who
represented Georgia along with the Metropolitan Bishop Gregory.
Obviously, the large mass of believers was not excepted to thoroughly
and subtly analyse dogma-related issues, but on the other hand, one
cannot afford to consider these persons as an amorphous mass which only
imitated – without understanding - the message of the enactors and
practiced an empty ritual, unable to derive any valid explanations to its
main existential problems. For this reason, the basis for these numerous
attempts to explain surrounding phenomena, which make up the
substance of any kind of legends, would normally consist of the
predominant religious outlook of the given age and of the specific
geographic region.
Returning to the prayers that are read “for those who suffer because of
the devil and for all helplessness” (Aghiasmatar..., l965), it is easy to
identify, from their very contents, the large thematic spheres which can
provide narrative substance to various categories of popular legends and,
even if it seems paradoxical to some researchers, to all the material linked
to magical practices, exorcism, and spells. Although this view is
controversial and may appear to be analyzed in a relatively far-fetched
manner to this day, it appears this way because in-between certain
thematic spheres of legends, of family life cycle rituals, of carol singing,
and of certain calendar cycles and exorcism rituals, there are close links
which go beyond the strict sphere of myth and legend, fitting into an ample
theological structure which in its turn is articulated at all the levels of
individual and collective existence and find expression in folk genres.
BALKAN FOLK TRADITIONS
223
In the center, as Lauri Honko (l989, l996) inferred and Heda Jason
(1977, 1978), proved through its definition, lies the legend, the popular
science which, when functioning as a legend, needs to provide real
information, as is only natural, within the religious system which
generates the existence of the group. The legend can be given this name
partly from the angle of research, yet not from the researcher’s viewpoint,
for in research the term is used within the strategic terminology of a
discipline, not from the viewpoint of the community under scrutiny. Often
enough, experts overlooked precisely this critical aspect: what a
community thinks about the information it helps to circulate, to what
extent this information is or is not considered true, therefore to what
extent a narrative is or is not a legend for a given community.
Consequently, a legend is a prose or (more rarely) a verse narrative
which belongs to a “scientific” information system in a given community,
according to the religion that the respective community practices. The
narrative is considered true by both the performer and the listener, and it
puts the human being, together with his or her living space and time, into
contact with the numina. In terms of contents, legends subdivide into
packages of theme units. Among the latter, narratives linked to events
involving places and persons having a relatively known historical identity,
where there is no direct involvement of the numina, make up a separate
legend category, the historical legend as such.
Historical legend should be the topic of a special study conducted from
a truly scientific perspective, able to do away with the mediocre and
amateurish approach of so many poor works, lacking critical spirit in the
truest sense of the word.
It is interesting to trace the ideas revealed by an analysis of the
previously mentioned prayer texts, for it is possible to extract from these
ideas the Christian Orthodox vision of the origin and manifestation forms
of the devilish power evoked above, the places in which devils live, the
specific times when they can act, as well as the vision of the heavenly
forces fighting against them, the origins of the latter, and their
manifestation forms. Thus, it is possible to witness the appearance of the
“fire cohorts”, bodiless powers manifesting themselves as creations of God,
who “made the seen and the unseen being”, and fought the devilish forces
which were thrown “into the deepest darkness of hell” for insubordination.
These devilish representations are “faceless”, but also “seen for shame”,
“unseen for hypocrisy”, or can turn out to be “like he who writhes, like the
snake or the beast, like man or woman, like a fright or a bird, like one who
talks at night, like one who is deaf or mute”, as well as one who “frightens
when invading”, “tears apart, bursts into laughter or brings tears of
comfort, being debauched or foul-smelling”. Devilish powers can “change
with the moon” and can come in the morning, at noon, at midnight, but
also at the break of dawn, by sheer hazard, or be sent by someone. The
place from which they come can be the sea, a river, the earth, a well, ruins,
a hole in the ground, a swamp, from among reeds, from mud, from the
land, from river meadows, from trees, from a bird, from thunder, from “the
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bathing cover”, from the wash, and from the “idolatrous tomb”. They can
be “known or unknown”, “from where we know or we know not”, “from the
crossroads”, “from the paths”, “in the yards”, etc. (Aghiasmatar, 1965, p.
298).
It is easy to identify all the places inhabited by evil embodiments who
do their work in the Christian narratives included in the category of the socalled “mythological” legends. Among them, one can find ghosts,
phantoms, and werewolves (or wolf-men) who periodically eat up the sun
and the moon, as well as all sorts of feminine representations, such as the
Forest Hag, the pixies, or the lake fairies, who have their local – Bulgarian,
Romanian, Albanian, or Greek – variants. Prayer texts also speak of
“undevout giants” who were drowned for their sins and to whom folk
legends allocate a whole theme category including, among other motifs, the
building of a fortress – a remembrance of the Biblical tower near which
God mixed up the tongues of the earth – and the flood. Another
remarkable fact is the frequent link of these forms to the idea of flight or
floating, to the bodiless and even to light and lightning, even though it is
not the “true” light, but one which is lying, deceiving, and bringing about
unrest and discord (the light given off by the dragon, the roll of light under
which the goblin creeps into the house, the light of burning treasures,
etc.).
D. CONCLUSION
It has not been the aim of this study to carry out an analysis of each
thematic category or of the topics included in the various categories of folk
legends. One can, however, be reasonably certain that folk legends
integrate into a religious system which, leaving aside the fact that it can no
longer represent those ancient pre-Christian religious structures, each one
with its own origin and specificity, is a Christian system with a coherence
that needs to be decoded through a careful and close scrutiny of each
manifestation form. For each of these forms it is necessary to identify preChristian roots and ways in which they grew richer and changed their
identity and specificity owing to their contact with the new meanings
provided by Christianity. Other things to be taken into account are the
Byzantine print of the Christianity of Southeastern Europe, the Eastern
elements of which merged into the Byzantine Christian structures, and the
honouring particularities to be found in the Orthodox cult, in which the
veneration of angels and saints, as well as the cult of the Mother of God,
are very closely linked to the system of traditional folk legends.
E. BIBLIOGRAPHY
1. References
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BÉDIER, J. Les Légendes épiques: Recherches sur la formation des chansons
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BÉDIER, J. Les fabliaux: Etudes de littérature populaire et histoire littéraire
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BÎRLEA, Ovidiu. Folclorul românesc. Vol. 1. Bucharest, 1983.
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BRĂILOIU, Constantin, and ISPAS, Sabina. Sub aripa cerului. Bucharest,
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CAMPBELL, Joseph. The Hero with a Thousand Faces. New York, 1956.
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COX, Marian. Cinderella. London, 1883.
DURKHEIM, Emile. “The Elementary Forms of the Religious Life”, in, W. A.
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1965.
DUŢU, Alexandru. Cărţile de înţelepciune în cultura română. Bucharest,
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ELIADE, Mircea. Traité d’histoire des religions. Paris, 1968.
FRAZER, James George. The Golden Bough. 12 vols. London, 1907-1915.
FRAZER, James George. Folklore in the Old Testament. 3 vols. London,
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FREUD, Sigmund. Totem et tabou: Interprétation par le pshychanalyse de la
vie des peuples primitifs. Paris, 1925.
GENNEP, Arnold van. La Formation des légendes. Paris, 1910a.
GENNEP, Arnold van. Réligions, moeurs et légendes. Vol. 4. Paris, 1910b.
GRIMM, Jakob and Wilhelm. Deutsche Mythologie. Berlin, 1835.
GRIMM, Jakob and Wilhelm. Kinder - und Hausmärchen. Berlin, 1856.
HAHN, J. G. von. Sagwissenschaftliche Studien. Jena, 1876.
HONKO, Lauri. “Theories of Genre”, Studia Fennica 33 (1989).
HONKO, Lauri. “Changing National Identities: Finland”, Mare Balticum 5 2
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ISPAS, Sabina. “Folclorul - proces viu de creaţie”, Academica Ianuarie
(1993).
ISPAS, Sabina. “Cultură orală şi informaţie transculturală”, Anuarul Arhivei
de Folclor. 15-17 (1997).
JASON, Heda, with GROBER-GLUCK, G., GUTGEMANNS, E., and SEGAL, D.
Ethnopoetics: A Multilingual Terminology... n. p., 1977.
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(1978).
JEANMAIRE, H. Dionysos: Histoire du culte de Bacchus. Paris, 1976.
JUNG, Carl Gustav. The Symbolic Life. London, 1977.
JUNG, Carl Gustav. and KERÉNYI, C. Introduction à l’essence de la
mythologie. Paris, 1968.
LANG, Andrew. Myth, Ritual, and Religion. 2 vols. 1913.
LE GOFF, Jacques. Pentru un alt ev mediu: Valori umaniste în cultura şi
civilizaţia evului mediu. Bucharest, 1986.
LESSA, William A., and VOGT, Evon A. Reader in Comparative Religion: An
Anthropological Approach. 2nd ed. New York, Evanston, and London,
1965.
LÉVI-STRAUSS, Claude. La Structure et la forme: réflections sur un ouvrage de
Vladimir Propp. Cahiers de l’Institut des Sciences Économiques
Appliquées, Série M-7. Paris, 1960.
LORD, Albert. The Singer of Tales. Cambridge, 1960.
MALINOWSKI, Bronislav. Trois Essais sur la vie sociale des primitifs. Paris,
1968.
MAUSS, M. Oeuvres. 3 vols. Paris, 1969.
MEGAS, George A. Greek Calendar Customs.... 2nd ed. Athens, 1963.
MÜLLER, Max. Selected Essays on Language: Mythology and Religion.
London, 1881.
MUŞLEA, Ion, and BÎRLEA, Ovidiu. Tipologia folclorului din răspunsurile la
chestionarele lui B. P. Hasdeu. Bucharest, 1970.
NAUMANN, Hans. Primitive Gemeinschafts Kultur. Jena, 1921.
NĂDEJDE, I. Dicţionar latin-român. Iaşi, n. d.
NICOLOVA, Vanya. “Bulgarski jrtvarski obicai”, Etnografski problemi na
Narodnata Duhovna Kultura 2 (1994).
PROPP, V. I. Rădăcinile istorice ale basmului fantastic. Bucharest, 1973.
RAGLAN, Lord. The Hero: A Study in Tradition, Myth, and Drama. New York,
1956.
RANK, Otto. The Myth of the Birth of the Hero. New York, 1959.
SAINT-YVES, Pierre. Manuel de Folklore. Paris, 1936.
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SAVIN, I. G., and MIHĂLCESCU, I. Curs de teologie fundamentală. Bucharest,
n. d.
Taylor, Archer. “The Biographical Patterns in Traditional Narrative”, The
Pacific Spectator 2 (1948).
Voronca, Elena Niculiţă. Datinele şi credinţele poporului român adunate şi
aşezate în ordine mitologică. Cernăuţi, 1903.
ZUMTHOR, Paul. Essai de poétique médiévale. Paris, 1972.
2. Other Literature
ABRUDAN, D., and CORNIŢESCU, E. Arheologie biblică. Bucharest, 1994.
ANGELOV, B., and GENOV, M. Stara bălgarska literatura, Sofia, 1992.
ARION, V. România şi popoarele balcanice. Bucharest, 1913.
BAUD-BOVY, Samuel. Chansons du dodécanèse. 2 vols. Athens, 1935.
BAUD-BOVY, Samuel. Etudes sur la chanson cleftique. Athens, 1958.
BAUD-BOVY, Samuel. Chansons populaires de Crète Occidentale.... Geneva:
Chène-Bourg, 1972.
BAUD-BOVY, S. Essai sur la chanson populaire grecque. Nauplion, 1983.
BAUSINGER, Hermann. On Cultural Identity and Symbols of Identity. Turku:
FFSS, 1991.
BENOVSKA-SUBKOVA, Milena. Zmeiiat v Bălgarskii folklor. Sofia, 1995.
BLUM, Richard, and BLUM, Eva. The Dangerous Hour: The Lore of Crisis and
Mystery in Rural Greece. London, 1970.
BOAS, F. General Anthropology. New York, 1938.
CAILLOIS, Roger. Man and the Sacred. Vol. 3. Glencoe, 1959.
CURTIUS, F. R. Literatura europeană şi Evul Mediu latin. Bucharest, 1973.
DEGH, Linda. American Folklore and the Mass Media. Bloomington and
Indianapolis, 1994.
DUMÉZIL, George. Rituels indo-européens. Rome, 1954.
EISENBERG, Josy. Iudaismul. Bucharest, 1995.
FOCHI, Adrian. Coordonate sud-est europene ale baladei populare
româneşti. Bucharest, 1975.
GASTER, Moses. Crestomaţie română. 2 Vols. Bucharest, 1981.
GASTER, Moses. Literaturã populară română. Bucharest, 1883.
IACIMIRSKI, A. I. Bibliograficeskij obzoru apokrifovu iuznoslavjanskoj i russkoj
pissmennosti. Vol. 1. Petrograd, 1921.
ISMENE, Hadjicosta. Cyprus and Its Life: Morals and Customs of Cyprus Folk Songs. London, 1943.
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ISPAS, Sabina. “Folclorul – dimensiune a istoriei naţionale”, Academica
(January, 1992).
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ISPAS, Sabina. Cântecul epic eroic românesc în context sud-est european.
Bucharest, 1995.
IVANOV, I. Bogomilski knigi i legendi. Sofia, 1925.
KUMANI, Hile. “De l’Origine et des motifs des chansons légendaires
bosniennes sur Gjergj Elez Alia”, Culture populaire albanaise 5 (1985):
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LAWSON, John Cuthbert. Modern Greek Folklore and Ancient Greek Religion:
A Study in Survivals. New York, 1969.
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and POPOVA, Assia. Eseuri de mitologie balcanică. Bucharest, 1997.
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Bucharest, 1996.
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TIRTA, Mark. “Des stratifications mythologiques dans l’épopée légendaire”,
in, Culture populaire albanaise 5 (1985): 91-102.
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Tales. Helsinki, 1969.
VI. Varieties of Nationalism and National Ideas
in Nineteenth- and Twentieth-Century
Southeastern Europe
GHEORGHE ZBUCHEA
A. FEATURES – INTERFERENCES - CONFRONTATIONS
In recent years, there has been a good deal of discussion, mainly in the
media, about nationalism and its outburst, as opposed to trends favouring
European integration. One of the most common assumptions is that the
collapse of the communist totalitarian régimes, along with a substantial
change in the European and the world balance of power, has led to the
expansion of a new nationalist wave. The example of the Balkan area,
namely of former Yugoslavia, which has turned into a region of violence
and bloodshed and, to a large extent, uncontrollable ethnic conflicts,
provides a strong argument for experts currently studying one of the major
problems in the contemporary world. What these experts aim to do is to
answer a critical question: will the Europe of tomorrow still be composed of
nations and nation-states or will it become completely supranational?
Whatever the forms it may take, nationalism was and still is strongly
condemned. For Adam Michnik, it is nothing but “communism’s final and
harmful inheritance”, while according to Vladimir Tismăneanu (1997, p.
251):
Nationalism means a stressed form of paranoia, collective and
individual at the same time... . Collective paranoia is the sum of all
individual paranoias. A tragic illustration of the turbulent postcommunist period is the violence, which has accompanied
Yugoslavia’s collapse... . Yugoslavia ceased to exist because of the
way in which local élites craving for power hysterically manipulated
nationalist fervour.
The common element of such views is the opposition between
nationalist and European, which also means the opposition between
modernization and traditionalism or between the progressive and the
retrograde. The result has been a firm (and, often enough, exclusionist)
distinction between national and European, which has generated quite a
number of intense arguments.
Regarding the case of Romania, Laurenţiu Ulici made the following
comment that is also suitable to other European areas:
The problem of our European identity is anthropologically solved
since Macedo-Romanians clearly belong to the European cultural
229
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G. ZBUCHEA
model. When defining the meaning of being European, the national
element plays the part of the specific difference, which is to say, you
cannot pose as a European without a previous national self-knowledge
(in, Gabriel Andreescu, 1996, p. 75).
But many theoretical and methodological aspects of nationalism, rather
than the nation as a concept, exist. Professor Alexandru Zub thinks that
the situation is highly unclear in regard to conceptualization:
Being a product of the standardization introduced by the modern
state (I. Wallerstein), a cultural and pathological artefact (B.
Anderson) or even a source for the nation where there was no actual
nation before (E. Gellner), nationalism proves to be a labile and
complex phenomenon, eluding any complete definition.... There are
analysts who even blame the nation for being too large to solve local
or regional problems, but, at the same time, too small as far as
economic and global strategies are concerned.... As all complex
phenomena, manifesting themselves on culturally large areas,
diverse in terms of traditions and attitudes, nationalism has to be
plurally approached as the expression of specific and endlessly
varied realities (in, Guy Hermet, 1997, p. 7).
It is currently claimed that, in terms of world history, nation building
and the development of national consciousness were historical processes,
which started during the Renaissance, thus preceding the assertion and
the spread of the Enlightenment. Moreover, this period was one during
which differences in historical evolution and other features in various
European regions became increasingly profound, resulting in, among other
things, an ever widening gap between the Western and the Eastern or
Southeastern areas of the continent.
During the Eighteenth Century, the grounds were laid in Western
Europe for two ideas about nations as forms of human community. In
France, a nation was thought to be a community made up of people who
shared common values and had a natural desire to live together. East of
the Rhine, Germans came to think that the basis of a national community
consisted of birth, language, and affiliation to a common popular culture.
Two outlooks were thus identified that later made themselves known
throughout the Nineteenth Century, fuelling in most European regions
various claims made by peoples willing to live in their own political and
state bodies.
A number of centralized states had begun to appear in the Middle Ages:
France, England, Spain, etc. In these cases, the formation of centralized
states preceded the formation of both the nation and of its image of itself –
in other words, national consciousness. At the same time, at the beginning
of modern times, a large part of Europe found itself in a different situation.
Italians and Germans lived in the Central European region in a variety of
large or small state entities and only managed to become united halfway
through the Nineteenth Century. In vast continental areas, empires existed
NATIONALISM AND NATIONAL IDEAS
231
that included various ethnic groups. In such cases, nation building and
the development of national awareness preceded the nation-state.
In the aftermath of the French Revolution and the Napoleonic Wars, the
decisions made by the Great Powers during the Congress of Vienna, which
– personal interests aside – relied chiefly on legitimacy and even on
religious principles, drew a new European political map. For more than a
century, between 1815 and 1920, a series of national movements got
started and gave rise to a process intended to construct a Europe of
nations, that is, of nation-states. This age, also known as the “century of
nationalities”, lasted until the end of the First World War, when the
continental European empires collapsed and national states were granted
official recognition.
The post-war years witnessed a clash between supporters of the
principle of nationalities as a fundamental right of humankind, the
expression of which was a series of legitimate national states, and certain
leaders of revisionist and expansionist states, who wanted to change the
very borders making up the new European political map. The Second
World War did, to a certain extent, change these borders and was followed
by a European split produced by the communist takeover and the start of
the Cold War. During the post-war years, Western European countries
chose to integrate into a variety of forms, thus aiming at a type of unity
that went beyond national structures and borders. This trend expanded
and became possible in Eastern and Southeastern Europe after the
collapse of the totalitarian régimes in 1989-1990. From a national
perspective, this phenomenon was accompanied by the disbanding of the
last multi-ethnic structures left on the continent, the Union of Soviet
Socialist Republics (USSR) and the Yugoslav Federation.
In Southeastern Europe, the current situation is quite tense. Five new
states (including a reduced Yugoslavia) came into being as the result of the
collapse of the Yugoslav Federation. Their more-or-less common feature is
an obvious lack of homogeneity in terms of ethnic composition. In addition
to the somewhat particular case of Bosnia and Herzegovina, in which the
three ethnic components are almost equally numerous, there is the case of
the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia. With a surface area of 25,713
square kilometers, its population was 2,033,964 according to the 1991
census. The ethnic distribution of this population was as follows: 65.3
percent Macedonians, 21.7 percent Albanians, 3.8 percent Turks, 2.5
percent Gypsies, 2.17 percent Serbs, 0.3 percent Vlachs, and 4.3 percent
other ethnic groups. One can usefully compare these figures with those of
the 1953 census, when the ethnic percentages of Macedonia were as
follows, to a population with 1,304,514 inhabitants: 65.98 percent
Macedonians, 12.42 percent Albanians, 15.63 percent Turks, 2.69 percent
Serbs, 1.57 percent Gypsies, 0.66 percent Vlachs, and 1.01 percent other
ethnic groups.
The ethnic and therefore the national composition of Southeastern
Europe is the result of a long historical evolution having a number of
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G. ZBUCHEA
common traits, but at the same time a series of specific features as
compared to ethnic and political developments in other parts of Europe.
At the beginning of the Middle Ages, this area witnessed what came to
be known as the phenomenon of Balkan ethnogenesis. The survivors from
ancient times were the Greeks and the Illyrians, who later on became
Albanians. As a consequence of the migration of Slavic tribes from the
North, an important part of Eastern Romanity, the substratum of which
consisted of Thracian-Illyrians, mingled with the newcomers and thus
made possible the existence of new peoples belonging to the South Slav
group, i.e., Slovenes, Croats, Serbs, Macedonians, and Bulgarians (the
last-mentioned also having a Turanian element in their inception as a
distinct ethnic group).
At the same time, another part of Eastern Romanity, lying from the
Maramureş region to the Pindus Mountains and existing in more or less
compact masses, survived in its turn and gave birth to the Romanian
people with its two large branches: the North-Danubian Romanians and
the Balkan Romanians.
Throughout the second millennium, as the result of a number of
complex factors, population mutations occurred almost incessantly (albeit
at various levels of intensity) in the Balkan region. Thus, certain ethnic
groups moved from their initial habitats and newcomers belonging to
different peoples took their places. Thus, during Byzantine times,
Hellenism recovered part of the Southern and central areas of the Balkan
Peninsula that had been previously occupied by Slavs. Several centuries
were required for certain Serbian communities to move from the South
(from so-called Old Serbia, including Kosovo) to the North, toward the
Danube and the Sava, and later on toward Voivodina and Banat. From the
West (the Adriatic coast), Albanians surged toward the center of the
Balkan Peninsula. Croats and Serbs mingled with the local populations
existing in Bosnia, Herzegovina, and Eastern Croatia. During the period of
Ottoman rule, many Turks were either brought in from the outside or
emerged through the assimilation of local people. They were later
accompanied by Jews, Gypsies, and a number of Germanic elements in
regions first controlled by the Holy Roman Empire and then taken over by
the Habsburg Empire.
The Hungarian element, too, began to expand to the South, starting
from Pannonia. These ethno-demographic changes continued throughout
the Twentieth Century, when they sometimes assumed the magnitude of a
so-called “ethnic cleansing”. Events of this sort occurred during the
Second World War in Croatia, where most of the Serbs (many of whom had
settled there after 1918) were expelled, or at the start of Tito’s régime,
when the German ethnic group was all but removed from the country.
Similar realities could also be observed in recent years in Croatia, Bosnia
and Herzegovina, and Kosovo.
The political realities of Southeastern Europe over the last centuries
have been very complex. Throughout the ages, starting with the final years
of antiquity, through to the opening years of the Twentieth Century,
NATIONALISM AND NATIONAL IDEAS
233
several imperial forms existed: the Byzantine, the Ottoman, and the
Habsburg Empires. For limited periods of time, but over large areas,
history witnessed the existence of state forms created by local populations,
like, for instance, the First and the Second (Asenid) Bulgarian Czardoms,
and the Serbian Empire. These political and state realities, that were not
ethnically unitary, did not survive. They disappeared for internal and
external reasons, but left behind historical memories which often enough
were turned into myths serving as important components of national and
nationalist ideologies, especially in the Twentieth Century.
When the Turks began their systematic, rapid, and successful
expansion toward and into the South-Danubian region, this region was
characterized by a great degree of political division. At the time of the
Battle of Kosovo (20 June 1389), twenty-three state forms were in
existence in Southeastern Europe, plus the territories claimed by Hungary,
by Venice, and by the Ottoman Empires.
It took the Ottoman Turks about two centuries to establish unity in
almost all of Southeastern Europe, except for a small area conquered by
the Habsburgs, when the Hungarian crown was badly shaken following the
Battle of Mohács, in 1526. A century and a half later, the situation began
to change. After the siege of Vienna, the Habsburgs began their own
expansion into the Balkan region, occupying ever expanding territories
inhabited by various Yugoslav peoples. Starting in the Eighteenth Century,
an expansionist competition became apparent when the Romanov Dynasty
of Russia (especially during the reign of Catherine the Great) strove to
conquer Constantinople and as many Balkan territories as possible.
Given these conditions, it would be the Habsburg and Ottoman
Empires that would experience the first national emancipation movements
attempted by the various peoples living in the area. These national
revolutions, that took place throughout the Nineteenth Century, after
1804, had generally ended by 1918, when imperial structures were
replaced by the new realities of self-proclaimed national states.
B. NATIONAL CASE STUDIES
1. The Case of Greece
In the Balkan area, Greek nationalism came into existence before that of
other peoples. It was influenced by a number of factors (some of them
specific to the Greeks, others common to other ethnic groups in the region,
but being activated later than in the case of the Greeks) that contributed to
this situation. The first stirrings of Hellenic revival came into being as early
as the final century of Byzantium. The idea of Hellenity then began to
separate itself from the Byzantine imperial idea, while later on, in the
Eighteenth Century, it went through a new phase, separating itself, to a
certain extent, even from Orthodoxy.
During the period of Ottoman rule, the Greek element in many cases
benefited from a particular situation. The Sultans granted to the
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G. ZBUCHEA
(overwhelmingly Greek) Orthodox clergy a series of repeatedly renewed
privileges and thus a special status, according to which its responsibilities
were not only religious, but also related to the local representation of the
people. As of the Fifteenth Century, many Greeks, while preserving their
identity and faith, went to work for their conquerors, especially in the
administrative structures. They were appointed to important offices in the
Constantinople central apparatus, as well as in the North-Danubian
region. Here they ruled over the Romanian Principalities during the socalled Phanariot epoch. At the same time, the Greeks moved about a great
deal more and further than did members of the other Balkan nationalities.
They could be found from Alexandria to Venice and from Vienna to
Odessa, becoming involved in commerce, banking, and even intellectual
activities. These same Greeks, who, while belonging to the Ottoman
Empire, were the first Balkan subjects to make contact with Western ideas
– the works of the French Enlightenment, followed by the principles and
the ideas proclaimed and disseminated by the French Revolution. Greeks
also created the first cultural and then political associations in the region.
In the Eighteenth Century, the Greeks were the supreme authority
regarding all religious and cultural issues for the whole Christian
population in the Ottoman Empire. Part of the Greek aristocracy, the
Phanariots,1 hoped, at a certain point, for a reform from within as a result
of the modernization of the Ottoman Empire. This hope was accompanied
by the secret aim of taking control, seizing power from the Ottoman
authorities, and thus re-establishing the Byzantine Empire, which, in their
view, was a Greek Empire.
Another trend of ideas among the Phanariots was stimulated by actions
of, but chiefly by plans made in, St. Petersburg. For a while, the persons
involved hoped for a Czarist restoration according to the “Greek Project” of
Catherine the Great, which would have meant the establishment of the
Phanariot political power in a Christian empire incorporating the Balkan
region and having its capital in Constantinople. The initial (Russianrelated) form of this idea was abandoned, but not altogether forgotten.
In a certain way, the first central promoters of the national Greek idea
were Adamantios Koraïs (1748-1833) and Velestinlis Rigas (1757-1798).
Koraïs lived in (and was influenced by) France and promoted the ideas of
the French Revolution, believing that supporting it could bring freedom to
his countrymen. Among other possibilities, he relied on the 19 November
1792 Decree issued by the Convention, stipulating that French
1 The term, Phanariot, designates the ethnically Greek and Orthodox élite in the European territories of
the Ottoman Empire. The name is derived from that of the neighbourhood in Constantinople, close to the
Oecumenical Patriarchate, traditionally inhabited by Greeks. The Phanariots played an essential role in the
neo-Greek Renaissance that began in the late Eighteenth Century and in the creation of the modern Greek
state. Some of their leaders had a role in stimulating nationalism among other non-Turkish, Christian,
inhabitants of Southeastern Europe. In Romanian history, the term designates a group of high officials of
Greek origin who, between 1711 and 1716, on the one hand, and 1821, on the other, were appointed by the
Ottoman Empire to rule the Romanian Principalities of Walachia and Moldavia. The effects of their period of
rule are still being debated by Romanian historians.
NATIONALISM AND NATIONAL IDEAS
235
revolutionary armies would support all peoples willing to overthrow their
tyrants.
Rigas’s activity was also tremendously important. He mapped out the
armed insurrection and even wrote the famous Turios [The Battle March].
He also conceived a bill of human rights as well as a sketch for a new
state. In his vision, this state was to include, within a republican system,
the Balkan and the Middle Eastern peoples, with a special role for the
Greeks. Thus, Rigas can be considered a forerunner of the idea of
Southeastern European federalization, which was taken up again in the
mid-Nineteenth Century and later on between the two World Wars, when it
was marked by an obvious communist ideology.
The year 1814 witnessed the setting up of the secret association,
Hetairia Philiké, the first aim of which was to win freedom for the Greeks,
but also to bring the Balkan peoples together into a larger alliance,
obviously under Greek domination. After the Hetairist interlude in the
Principalities, when Alexander Ypsilanti (1792-1828) escaped and his
supporters were defeated, a revolutionary war burst out in Greece, lasting
for nine years, and ending with the establishment of the first Southeastern
European national independent state, recognized as such by the European
community. As early as 15 June 1822, a Declaration of Independence
(with a constitutional character) was adopted, its inspiration taken from
French and American sources. The young Greek state went from a
republican to a monarchic régime, when Otto I of Bavaria was proclaimed
king.
Following some domestic struggles, a constitutional régime was formally
established and a national political doctrine was formulated, with the aim
of attracting and uniting all Greeks both within the independent state and
from the Diaspora, for the vast majority of Greeks lived outside the borders
of this new independent Greece. The new political doctrine stated the
liberating mission of free Greece thus making possible the appearance of
the “great idea” (megali ideia), which not only confirmed the objective of
freeing all the Greeks, but was also linked to an idea of state expansion in
the regions of Europe and of Asia Minor, previously or currently inhabited
by Greeks. According to this political idea, the so-called Greek state was
expected to include territories which were also targeted by non-Greeks
living either in Southeastern Europe or in the Near East.
In light of this political agenda, political action throughout the
Nineteenth Century was directed either toward the islands (especially Crete
and the Aegean islands) or toward Thessaly and Epirus, but principally
toward Macedonia and Thrace, including Constantinople. These plans
involved the Greeks in a number of (even military) conflicts with Ottoman
Turkey, until the Balkan Wars and even after them. In the aftermath of the
Balkan Wars, Greek rulers (irrespective of their political coloration) set out
to expand the borders of Greece as much as possible and turned this
decision into a fundamental objective. Thus, in exchange for siding with
the Entente, Greek Prime-Minister, Eleutherios Venizelos, was promised,
on behalf of the Entente, that Greece would be able to incorporate
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important territories in Asia Minor, especially around the city of Smyrna.
This commitment is what actually caused Greece to undertake a war
against the new Kemalist Turkey. The war ended in 1922, when, in
addition to the defeat of the Greeks, almost two million of them chose (or
were forced) to leave the new Turkey and to settle primarily in Thrace and
in Macedonia, where they modified the old ethnic realities of these regions
to a very great extent.
Thus, the Greeks were prevented from fulfilling their plans that were
derived from the “great idea”, that generated (and continues to generate)
further tensions with their neighbours. Some Greek political circles are
still unhappy about the current political borders of Greece. According to
them, Southern Albania, the borders of which were established as a result
of the Treaty of Florence in 1913, is Northern Epirus and therefore part of
the Greek national heritage. There still exist plans concerning the
Macedonian region. The Greek government went so far as to question the
legitimacy of the name, “Macedonia“, given to the state born after the
collapse of Yugoslavia, the capital city of which is Skopje. Similarly, there
are periodic tensions between Athens and Ankara over their mutual
questioning of borders in the Aegean region.
2. The Case of Bulgaria
By the end of the Fourteenth Century, the Bulgarian Târnovo and Vidin
Czardoms had been conquered by the Ottoman Turks who introduced
their own system of government all over the regions inhabited by the
Bulgarian ethnic group. Since most Bulgarians were peasants, they had to
endure a foreign domination and had no state forms of their own. No
Bulgarian state existed until 1878, and full independence was only
proclaimed in 1908.
Following the Ottoman conquest, the Bulgarian Church was first
subordinated to the Constantinople Patriarchate and then to the Ohrid
Archbishopric. There were certain anti-Ottoman uprisings in the Bulgarian
region, but nothing spectacular came of them. Outlaws were the main
representatives of the resistance, which means that no ideology based
upon national and political elements was produced. The memory of the old
czarist imperial tradition did exist, but its image was not very clear or
vivid. During the struggle of Michael the Brave2 against the Ottomans, a
revolt burst out in Târnovo. Although the rebels went so far as to crown
Sisman III as their Czar, the episode did not have any important
consequences.
2 Mihai Viteazul, in Romanian, ruler of Walachia between 1593 and 1601. He led a victorious struggle
against the Ottoman Empire for Wallachian independence. He is credited with being the first Romanian ruler
to unite the three Romanian Principalities: first, Walachia with Transylvania, in November 1599, and then
both with Moldavia, in May 1600. Thus, for a short period, Michael the Brave was the ruler of a state
incorporating most of the Romanian people.
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237
During the period of conquest, partly unlike what happened in the
Greek territories, but similar to what happened in the Yugoslav lands, the
new Ottoman rulers eliminated the local political class, so that, for many
centuries Bulgarian peasant society would have no genuine élite. In the
Bulgarian region (like in other Balkan areas), urban life was very
restricted. Most townspeople did not belong to the ethnic group that
included the inhabitants of neighbouring villages. Spirituality was
dominated by tradition. Modest elements of a certain cultural activity
could only be preserved in the monastic field, a situation that explains the
circulation of a number of predominantly religious writings.
Given the multiple changes the Ottoman Empire underwent in the
Eighteenth Century, the Bulgarian people entered a new development
phase called the “rebirth” (vazrajdane). One of its basic tenets was the
development of a national ideology able to focus on the freeing of Bulgaria
from Ottoman domination. The beginning of national programmes is
related to the life and work of the monk, Paisij Hilandarski, who spent
many years in the Athonite Monastery of Hilandar. He wrote Slavjanobălgarska istorija [History of the Bulgarian People] that he completed in
1762. Paisij Hilandarski’s work, a compilation of various historical
novellas, was intended for all people whom he considered to be of
Bulgarian origin and who lived in a Bulgarian homeland.
According to Paisij Hilandarski, history proved that Bulgarians were
equal (if not superior) to the other peoples living in the Balkans.
Addressing his fellowmen, he wrote:
Why be ashamed of calling yourself a Bulgarian and why not read
and write in your own tongue? Didn’t Bulgarians have their own
state and empire...? Of the whole large family of the Slavs,
Bulgarians were the most glorious; they were the first who crowned a
czar and had a patriarch; they were the first who became Christians
and conquered the land more than all the other Slav peoples. They
were the strongest and the most respected; indeed, the first Slav
saints were of Bulgarian origin and spoke Bulgarian (republished,
1963).
In addition to arguing in favour of the primordial position and the
superiority of Bulgarians, Paisij Hilandarski also traced the boundaries of
the territories inhabited by Bulgarians, that, in his vision, were not
restricted to the Balkan region, but also included “the whole of Thrace,
Macedonia, and part of Illyricum”.
Paisij Hilandarski’s work remained in manuscript form for many years.
His ideas were continued by – among others – Sofronie of Vratsa, who
actually prepared the ground for the first printing press in Bulgaria. But
several decades were needed until a coherent political programme could
evolve by which to continue the efforts already made from the perspective
of education, training, and direct anti-Ottoman action, particularly, in the
latter case, on the occasion of the Russo-Turkish Wars.
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Important efforts were made, in the late 1860s, to separate a Bulgarian
national church from the Oecumenical (in fact, Greek) Patriarchate. Thus,
in 1870, the Bulgarian Exarchate was established as a distinct church and
along with it, by the Constantinople authorities, recognition of the
Bulgarian nationality (religious institutions and schools included).
This period was also that of the life and work of Georgi Sava Rakovski
(1821-1867) who chose armed struggle, knowing that he could rely for
support on the Serbs and the Romanians. In 1858, in Odessa, Rakovski
drew up a plan for the liberation of Bulgaria. It included the following
passage:
Bulgarians were deprived of their freedom by the sword and it is by
the sword they will have to reconquer it, because no one will set
them free except themselves and no right will be granted if they don’t
earn it with their own blood. Rise in arms, Bulgarians. The time has
come to set yourselves free and to fill your beloved Bulgarian souls
with glory (in, Nicolai Todorov, 1975, p. 56).
Other Bulgarian nationalists, Vasil Levsky (1837-1873), Luben
Karavelov (1834-1879), and Hristo Botev (1848-1876) conducted a large
part of their work from inside the young Romanian state. They modified
the tactics, trying to move the focus of the fight for freedom into Bulgarian
territory and eventually aiming to establish an independent, democratic,
and republican state. They also created the first organizational forms (for
instance, the Bulgarian Revolutionary Central Committee), which were
supposed to be the embryo of the future structure of the state. In April
1876, a general uprising burst out in Bulgaria, but, as it was poorly
prepared and lacked external support, it was suppressed. Cruel reprisals
ensued.
Among other responses, this uprising triggered a wave of sympathy all
over Europe and a favourable attitude to the solution of the Bulgarian
national issue, further stimulating Russian preparations for war. Russia
actually started the Russo-Turkish War on 24 April 1877 and concluded
an armistice with Turkey on 31 January 1878. In addition to the Russian,
Romanian, Serbian, and Montenegrin armies, a large number of Bulgarian
volunteers took part in this war, either in separate units, or integrated into
Russian units.
At San Stefano, near Constantinople, Russia and Turkey, to the
exclusion of the other participants in the war, negotiated the new political
situation to be established in the Balkan region. The status of the
Bulgarians was one of the main topics of the debate. The truth of the
matter is that even at the December 1876 international conference held in
Constantinople, the great powers had suggested the formation of two
Bulgarian states, South and North of the Balkan region, granting both of
them autonomy, governors, assemblies, and militias. But on 23 December
1876, the Constitution of Mihat Pasha was proclaimed, so that further
diplomatic action for a peaceful solution to the Balkan situation apparently
became superfluous.
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239
According to the Treaty of San Stefano of 3 March 1878, Russia forced
Turkey to accept the existence of a Bulgarian Principality that would be
massively controlled by Russia. Article VI of the Treaty virtually established
the borders of the new political reality in the Balkans. These borders, in
addition to including the Bulgarian ethnic area (incorporated into the
borders of Bulgaria to this day), also included an important part of
Macedonia and even some of what would be Serbian territory latter on, a
part of Thrace extending Southward, to the Aegean Sea, some land
belonging to present-day Albania, and a part of Dobrudja. A Russian army
would be stationed in Bulgaria. The new state was to enjoy full internal
independence. Its relationship to the Ottoman Empire would be restricted
to the payment of tribute.
The establishment of this large Bulgarian Principality, the territorial
limits of which included many ethnic groups, was a great source of
dissatisfaction both for the other Balkan peoples and for the great powers,
especially Great Britain and the Austro-Hungarian Empire. For this
reason, they called the Congress of Berlin, the debates of which ended with
a treaty signed between 1 and 13 July 1878. Of the sixty-four articles
making up the Treaty of Berlin, twenty-two dealt with the situation of the
Bulgarians, bringing important changes not only to their status, but also
to the borders previously established at San Stefano. Thus, there were to
be two different political realities having two types of relationship with the
Ottoman Empire.
The Bulgarian Principality was established between the Danube and the
Balkan Mountains. It benefited from full domestic independence, but was
formally under the authority of the Sultan and had to pay him a tribute.
As for the Bulgarian territories South of the Balkan Mountains, they were
organized into a structure to be known as Eastern Rumelia, the capital of
which was Philippopolis (Plovdiv). The province was to enjoy administrative
autonomy under a Christian governor, but also remain under the
surveillance of the Sultan. The territories that the Treaty of San Stefano
had taken from Thrace, Rodope, and Macedonia were unconditionally
returned to the Ottoman Empire; however, Northern Dobrudja was ceded
to the Romanian state.
Because the Treaty of San Stefano and its territorial provisions were
annulled, a Bulgarian state, as distinct from what would be known as
Greater Bulgaria, was on the verge of being established. Several years
later, in 1885, in complex circumstances, Eastern Rumelia and the
Bulgarian Principality united under the authority of Sofia. The event came
to be known in the history of Bulgaria as the “Union”. (To a certain extent,
a parallel can be drawn with the Union of the Romanian Principalities
under Alexandru Ioan Cuza, except that the status of each of the two
Romanian principalities, unlike in the case of Bulgaria, was identical.)
The 1877-1878 events provided a clear basis for a new Bulgarian
political ideology which has continued – one way or another – to this very
day. The idea of Greater Bulgaria, namely the San Stefano Bulgaria, has
been strongly supported by Bulgarians.
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According to Bulgarian politicians and ideologists, their SouthDanubian state was the direct successor (in a new historical phase) of the
First and the Second Bulgarian Czardoms, both of which had included
important territories South of the Danube. All these territories were
claimed as a Bulgarian inheritance that had to be incorporated within the
borders of the new state. Thus, the major national objective on the political
agenda of that time was to bring home to the “national state” all the
Bulgarian patrimony (assets), which meant the whole of Macedonia,
Thrace, and Dobrudja, up to the Danube. These regions were the constant
concern of Bulgarian politicians, who spared no efforts to prepare and then
to achieve their political ideal. All the means of the state were used to
promote it: education at all levels, the media, allegedly academic journals,
as well as ample propaganda abroad. At the same time, preparations were
made and military actions were taken with the same purpose in view.
An essential element in this particular form of nationalism was the
approach to the Macedonian issue. According to Sofia, the whole
Slavophone population in Macedonia consisted (and still consists) of
Bulgarians, therefore belonging to the Bulgarian people, without yet being
part of its state. For this reason, for many decades, the claims of Sofia
were focused chiefly on the Macedonian region, even though there were
other important objectives to be attained. This case being what it was, after
1878 and mainly after 1913, Bulgarian nationalist ideology turned the
country into the major unsettling factor in the region. At the same time,
what could then be called Bulgarian revisionism prevented any
rapprochement among the Balkan states, even for questions of security and
neighbourly co-operation. (Obviously, one cannot ignore the extremely
important – sometimes even decisive – role of the great powers that
periodically intervened to promote their own interests in these highly
sensitive regions.)
Three times during the Twentieth Century: 1912-1913, 1915-1918, and
1941-1944, the Bulgarian government involved the country in wars meant
to implement an imperialistic and chauvinistic policy. On other occasions,
the Bulgarian authorities initiated or supported terrorist acts and even the
formation of armed groups of komitadgies, ready to fight for the same
expansionist plans.
Throughout the years, however, various Bulgarian democratic groups
denounced the dream of a “San Stefano Bulgaria”, as a “cancerous tumor”.
In spite of the catastrophic consequences of the expansionist initiatives,
and also in spite of the generally democratic European spirit, Bulgarian
expansionists did not give up their objectives. These were upheld not only
during the fascist régime existing before and during the Second World
War, but also during the period of Sovietization, when Bulgaria
experienced a form of national communism which, among other things,
aimed at educating Bulgarian society to fulfill “the national ideal” and to
remedy all previous injustices allegedly committed when Bulgaria “lost”
Macedonia, Thrace, and Dobrudja.
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241
Such ideas continue to exist and even to inspire practical action in the
new Bulgaria that emerged after the fall of Todor Zhivkov’s régime.
3. The Case of Albania
From the beginning of the Fifteenth Century until the outburst of the First
World War, that is, for about five centuries, Albanians were under
Ottoman rule. There was a brief interlude, between 1443 and 1468, on the
territory of present-day Albania, when Albanians established a state after
winning ephemeral liberation from the Ottoman yoke. The founder of this
state and the mastermind behind some successful actions against the
Ottoman armies was Georgi Kastriot Skanderbeg, who, later on, became a
legendary hero, a symbol, and a myth of Albanian popular and, afterwards,
political thinking.
Throughout the centuries of Ottoman rule, the Albanian and the
Montenegrin ethno-linguistic groups represented the most backward
peoples in the Balkan-Ottoman region, for a number of reasons. As in
neighbouring Montenegro), strong tribal traditions were preserved in an
all-rural society consisting of peasants and shepherds, the latter frequently
improving their (very low) living standards by attacking the sedentary and
somewhat wealthier populations surrounding them.
A certain reality developed during the period of Ottoman rule the
consequences of which lasted until the Twentieth Century. Coastal
Albanians were converted to Catholicism, coming under the religious
authority of Rome and maintaining contacts with a significant Albanian
diaspora which had been living in Southern Italy for centuries. Part of the
Albanian population (mainly the inhabitants of the mountainous regions)
stuck to the Orthodox faith, while the relative majority opted for Islam.
Unlike the cases of the later great multinational empires in the region – the
Habsburg and the Russian Empires – Ottoman rule proved to be relatively
tolerant and only incidentally resorted to forced Islamization in the
Balkans, in special cases and over limited geographical areas. Thus, the
fact that an important part of the Albanian population, as well as a
number of Serbs and Croats living in neighbouring Bosnia, chose to
embrace Islam was the result of freely made decisions.
Being a Muslim resulted in a reduction of one’s tax obligations toward
the Ottoman state and, in addition, begot a number of benefits and
perspectives. Unlike most medieval and pre-modern European societies,
the Ottoman world lacked any estates or orders, so that an individual
could rely on his skills and good fortune to be promoted to important
offices, including that of Grand Vizier (Vezir), which ranked second in the
hierarchy (after the Sultan) and was far more important than the
Padishah. For this reason, many Albanians chose the army or various
administrative positions and, along with Arabs and Bosnians, were
significant presences in Ottoman institutional structures. One result of the
Islamization of the Albanians is that it led to their being scattered
throughout the Ottoman Empire, from the Romanian Principalities to
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Egypt. Some Albanians settled in towns and started their own businesses,
just as Jews, Armenians, and Vlachs also did. In such places, they
abandoned their mother tongue or used it in parallel with Turkish.
The previously mentioned poor structures and circumstances, as well
as other difficulties, permitted only modest Albanian involvement in a few
random and unimportant anti-Ottoman uprisings. Thus, Albanian
national awareness and elements of national ideology appeared later than
in the cases of the other Balkan peoples. Indeed, some Albanians (as well
as Balkan Romanians) firmly believed, until the eve of the First World War,
in the possibility of remaining part of an evolving Ottoman world.
Albanians were loyal subjects of the Sultan for a long period. They hoped
for inner regeneration through reforms (that is, modernization) that would
be accompanied by the granting of minimal national rights, like, for
instance, the use of the Albanian language in educational systems and in
the structures of local autonomy.
At the start of their movement, this outlook was also shared by the
“Young Turks“, a political organization born at the end of the Nineteenth
Century in the Ottoman Empire and including quite a number of
Albanians who took part in its actions. After the “Young Turks” were
successful in Constantinople and took power in 1909, starting a long-term
programme of “Turkification“ and “Ottomanization“, the frail Albanian élite,
on the one hand, and the rural elements, on the other hand, began to take
action in establishing a national state.
As in other Balkan countries, this state-focused action had obviously
been preceded by culture-focused efforts. The mid-Nineteenth Century
witnessed the printing of the first Albanian books, in the North-Danubian
Romanian region, among which a primer. Enjoying some support from the
same region, the first Albanian language journal was printed, while the
first Albanian schools opened close to the Adriatic Sea. For the Albanian
nationalist movement, as in the case of other Balkan movements, Romania
proved to be a major center of support until the eve of the First World War.
Given the Eastern European crisis that occurred from 1875 to 1878,
political actions took place aiming at fulfilling certain national desiderata.
After the San Stefano Peace Treaty was signed, Albanians wrote a
complaint to the British government and asked, on behalf of two million
people (1,000,000 Muslims, 750,000 Orthodox, and 250,000 Roman
Catholics), that they be permitted to sever relationships with Turkey and
that Albanians be received “among the great European families where they
actually belong, by race and origins”. The so-called “Prizren League“ was
founded in June 1878 with a twofold purpose: to make Albanians and
their wishes better known by European public opinion and to change the
status of the Ottoman Empire Albanians by creating a type of autonomy
that observed the principle of nationalities.
The idea of autonomy had a huge impact among Albanians, but the
European decision-makers of the time did not take it into account and all
but refused to discuss the matter. In 1880, the Prizren League formed a
provisional government and started military actions, turning Kosovo into
NATIONALISM AND NATIONAL IDEAS
243
its resistance stronghold. But the movement failed after the Ottoman army
intervened without any hindrance from the great powers.
At the end of the Nineteenth Century, Albanian political action was
reflected, among other things, in a number of complaints in the writing of
which the Frasheri brothers played an important role. This political action
had the following short-term objectives: to bring together, under one
administrative structure, all territories inhabited by Albanians (who were
scattered in a number of vilayets), to obtain local autonomy according to
national principles, and to establish a democratic régime capable of
implementing modernization reforms. Both before and after 1908, some
Albanians took part in anti-Ottoman actions, along with representatives of
other Balkan ethnic groups. During the Ottoman internal crisis brought
about by the Turkish-Italian War and by the Balkan peoples’ preparations,
which predicted an impending conflict, an armed rebellion gradually
became general in the Albanian area.
Delegates appointed by various Albanian communities joined a group of
militants led by Ismail Kemal, who had come to Albania from Bucharest,
Romania. On 28 November 1912, a national assembly meeting in Vlora
proclaimed the independence of Albania and formed a provisional
government. Formal international recognition of Albanian independence
was granted through the 30 May 1913 Treaty of London, according to the
terms of which the Ottoman Empire gave up all its rights in Albania and
withdrew its remaining troops from the country.
In parallel with internal political troubles largely provoked by tribal
rivalries, Albanians made great efforts in several European capitals
(especially during the Conference of Florence of 1913) to have changes
made in the borders of the country, so as to include as much Albanianoccupied territory as possible. Both then and later, Albania had to face
complex problems which sprang from two sources: on the one hand, from
similar Greek, Montenegrin, and Serbian tendencies to grab as much as
they could from Albania, even to the point of wanting to divide it up among
themselves, and on the other hand, from the desire of Italy to impose a
protectorate status on Albania, which in fact would have meant Italian
control over Albania. At that point, Albanian political circles contacted the
great powers, submitting a written complaint accompanied by a map and
claiming a series of territories that were inhabited by Albanians (the
numbers and the percentages were and still are questionable) and had
been incorporated by neighbouring Greece and Serbia and Montenegro)
(later Yugoslavia). The message conveyed by this Albanian policy statement
was that the Albanian national territory was far more extensive than the
28,000 square kilometers granted by the Florence agreement of 1913 and
renewed before the outbreak of the First World War.
One can therefore conclude that, during the inter-war years, as well as
during Enver Hoxha’s communist régime and under his successor Ramiz
Alia, the idea of a Greater Albania remained the central objective of
Albanian nationalists. To a great extent, albeit irrespective of the political
will of Albanians, this objective was temporarily and partly achieved
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between 1941 and 1943, when Italian-occupied Albania was given a
number of Yugoslav territories, including the Kosovo region, which in their
turn had been a gift from Hitler to Mussolini’s Italy, after the 1941 German
invasion and dissolution of Yugoslavia.
During the post-Second World War years, the strongly anti-Yugoslav
national communism promoted by Enver Hoxha was accompanied by the
denial of national rights to minorities, even in the education system (while
the practice of religion was strictly forbidden), and also by a highly
autarchic and xenophobic state policy. The Tirana authorities were behind
all the Kosovo crises that began in the 1980s and got off to a fresh start
after 1990, with two distinct programmes: a minimal one, aiming at a
separate Albanian republic in Kosovo, the capital city of which would be
Priština, after a full “cleansing” of all Serbian elements, and a maximal
one, aiming at the setting up of a so-called Greater Albania, which would
mean that the Tirana authorities would control a population and a
territory twice as large as is currently the case.
4. The Case of the Balkan Romanians
South of the Danube River, extending to the Pindus Mountains, and from
Thrace to the Adriatic Sea, a Romanian ethnic group crystallized during
the last century of the first millennium. The group was identical to the
Romanians living North of the Danube, in terms of nationality and
language. According to the dialectical features of their spoken language,
these people were divided into Istro-Romanians, living in the immediate
neighbourhood of the Adriatic Sea, Megleno-Romanians, and Aromanians
(Macedo-Romanians), who inhabited the Southern and central region of
the Balkan Peninsula. During the Middle Ages they had been more
numerous than in the Nineteenth Century. Many communities had
petered out and had vanished, absorbed by the Slavic or Greek
surrounding masses. Next came the Romanians belonging to the DacoRomanian group, who were called Timocians and who lived near the right
bank of the Danube and mainly on both sides of the Timoc river which, by
1833, had come to be viewed as a natural border. These Romanians
spread from near Belgrade and the Morava Valley to Vidin and, further
East, to the Black Sea. They descended from an Eastern Romanity which
had managed to preserve the memory of Rome in their very name and
tongue, so that they were officially recognized as Romanians throughout
the years, in contemporary documents, in official Byzantine and Ottoman
papers, in the writings of medieval chroniclers, and later on, in the works
of certain Western travellers and humanists.
Since the Aromanians were shepherds, merchants, and craftsmen,
these people largely left their rural areas and became the most active and
educated ethno-linguistic group in the Balkans. Part of them were
scattered in a diaspora which included the Habsburg Empire and the
Romanian Principalities, where they also had an important role to play.
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245
Their history witnessed a national awakening and assertion movement,
which was – in its way – a different form of rebirth.
The first national rebirth of the Aromanian people took place in the very
heart of the Balkan Peninsula, in the urban center of Moscopolis, where a
multiple studies academic institution functioned for a certain period. It
was at this point that Romanians began to speak of a language and of an
ethnic group of their own, along with a historical background that
distinguished them from the other Balkan inhabitants. These ideas, that
were expressed by the first exponents of what could be called the
Moscopolean School, were further promoted at a higher level within the
Vienna and Budapest Aromanian communities. Under Habsburg rule,
Aromanian actions were first perceived as being an appendix to the socalled Transylvanian School of Romanian awareness and later came to
overlap its work. The fundamental ideas expressed by Constantine George
Roja, Constantine Ucuta, Mihail G. Boiagi, and by continuators of their
work, such as Andrei Şaguna and others, concerned with the Romanian
nature of the Vlachs and their language, the need to develop a Romanianlanguage school system, and the need to organize religious life along
Romanian lines, using the language that devout Romanians used when
speaking.
Obviously, there were important differences (coming from equally
different states of existence) between the Transylvanian School
representatives who came from Transylvania and other Romanians whose
roots could be found South of the Danube. In fact, the basic difference was
that of a compact mass of Romanians found in the intra-Carpathian area
and under the rule of the Habsburg Emperor, and that of scattered
Romanian minority communities throughout the Balkans during the
period of Ottoman rule. Indeed, it is in the latter area that one should seek
the political characteristics of the second Aromanian rebirth.
This second rebirth was somewhat different from the first, yet it moved
along the same lines and at a higher level. It began in Bucharest, during
the rule of Prince Alexandru Ioan Cuza. The 1848 generation “discovered”
its South-Danubian brothers and integrated them into a Romanian
national vision. From that time on, the official view held in Bucharest was
that, in addition to the attention directed at the Romanians in Bessarabia,
Bucovina, and Transylvania, equal attention should be devoted to the
Balkan Romanians, also known as European Turkish Romanians (until
the 10 August 1913 Treaty of Bucharest), Macedonian Romanians, or
simply Balkan Romanians, since they lived scattered across the Balkan
area.
Both the inhabitants of the Romanian state and the overwhelming
majority of the Balkan Romanians cherished the same basic ideas: their
affiliation with the Romanian bloc; the Romanian nature of all their spoken
dialects, and the need to preserve and promote their own ethnic (and
therefore national) traits. On the other hand, both the Bucharest circles
and the incipient Romanian élite in the Balkans took account of all
existing realities. In most of the Balkan regions, Romanians were
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scattered, while non-Romanians surrounded the urban or rural
communities in which they lived. Therefore, there was no suggestion of
creating a distinct Romanian state organization outside the Pindus area,
for obviously such a project would not have been feasible. Also, the huge
distance, often a question of hundreds of kilometres from the border of the
Romanian State, would have prevented the (partial or total) incorporation
of these hundreds or thousands of Romanians inside Romanian borders.
(It is true, however, that during the inter-war period, steps were taken to
ensure a massive immigration of these Romanians into Romania, where
many of them colonized the region of Dobrudja known as the
Quadrilateral, only to be forced to leave after the 1940 Craiova Treaty
returned the area to Bulgaria.)
The circumstances permitting, Romanian schools and churches opened
in the Balkans as early as 1864. Their construction and good functioning
were supported both from the state budget allocated by the Romanian
government on a yearly basis and from (very often substantial)
contributions made by all Romanians, but especially by South-Danubian
Romanians. On the eve of the First World War, a network of primary and
secondary schools existed, having over 110 units, as well as several dozens
of churches in which Romanian priests were permitted to conduct religious
services in their own language. In 1878, a number of authorized
representatives of Balkan Romanians, empowered by their local
communities, demanded official recognition of the Romanian language in
schools and in the existing administrative bodies, that meant, in fact, given
the prevailing conditions, the formal recognition of the Romanian
nationality. A decade later, a special effort was made to bring about the
recognition of a metropolitan bishop elected from among Aromanians and
able to represent them. Because of a number of factors, and mainly
because of the opposition of the Oecumenical Patriarchate acting on behalf
of Hellenism, these attempts ultimately failed.
The recognition of the Romanian nation within the Ottoman Empire
only took place in 1905, after common actions taken by many local
politicians and by the Bucharest authorities persuaded the Sultan to issue
an irade which was in fact a true constitutional charter. Romanians were
granted the right to have their own language, schools, and churches, and
also to enjoy proportional representation and participation in the local
administration. The irade was both a result and a recognition of the stance
taken by the Romanians, for they were among the few inhabitants of the
Ottoman Balkans who were loyal to the Porte and favoured the
preservation of the Empire rather than its destruction. In those days,
Romanians believed that the young Balkan states that were pursuing their
own national objectives (i.e., the political elimination of Ottoman authority
South of the Danube) were proving to be intolerant as the result of their
nationalism and therefore posed a threat to the very future of
Romanianism. The developments in the Pindus, but mainly those in
Ottoman Macedonia, seemed to provide solid evidence that such fears were
justified. For several decades, between 1878 and the outburst of the First
NATIONALISM AND NATIONAL IDEAS
247
World War, many well-armed groups, komitadgies, raided Macedonia (with
frequent support from the surrounding capitals: Athens, Sofia, and
Belgrade) and made victims of Romanians, killing many of them and
stealing their goods.
Balkan Romanians actively supported the actions of the Young Turks,
believing that they provided good opportunities for modernization and
perhaps guarantees regarding their future. The most important
representative of the national Romanian movement at the beginning of the
Twentieth Century, Nicolae Batzaria, belonged to the leadership of the new
Young Turk régime and was a member of both the Young Turk Party and
of the Constantinople Senate and Government. But the actions of the
Young Turks did not move in the direction Romanians had anticipated.
They introduced, for the first time in the Ottoman experience, an official
and large-scale denationalization and assimilation programme which
would negatively affect many Romanians.
The events related to the first Balkan War, i.e., the Ottoman catastrophe
that lasted for several weeks, gave rise to a search for new political
solutions. Within the Society for Macedo-Romanian Culture, the leading
Aromanian body in Macedonia, a new policy was shaped in a report
written by George Murnu. A proposal was made to establish an
independent or autonomous Macedonia, structured on multinational
criteria according to the Swiss model. Another possibility was to annex as
many Romanian settlements as possible to an incipient Albania and to
grant them a cantonal or even a federal régime (in other words, an
Albanian-Romanian state). A delegation of Macedo-Romanians visited the
major European capitals and submitted certain demands to the great
powers, which, at least officially, were not part of the political agenda of the
Titu Maiorescu government. The Romanian lobby failed as it would fail
once again, later on, when the same George Murnu expressed similar
demands at the Versailles Peace Conference of 1919, that put an end to
the First World War.
In the summer of 1913, as a result of the Treaty of Bucharest of 10
August, the splitting of the Balkan Peninsula was completed, distributing
the Romanian people into four different states. The Serbian and Greek
prime-ministers, as well as the head of the Bulgarian delegation, signed
official letters promising to grant Romanians educational and religious
rights and – obviously – to recognize their nationality. But the three states
along with Albania failed to fulfil the terms of these promises. The vast
majority of Romanian schools and churches in the Balkans were closed;
however, the speed with which these actions occurred (unlike the purpose)
varied from case to case.
There came to be a direct or implicit denial of the existence of a
Romanian minority in the Balkans and also of the right of Romanian
communities in the region to have legitimate relationships with the NorthDanubian Romanians. In the complex circumstances of the two World
Wars, first in 1917, then in 1941, Romanian cantons were officially
established in the Pindus area, but their existence was quite ephemeral.
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G. ZBUCHEA
The Timoc area experienced a number of specific political realities.
Persecutions and denationalization efforts were stronger and more
numerous here than elsewhere. During the Balkan Wars, Timoc
Romanians wrote their first protestations claiming basic national rights in
school and church. Neither of these demands, nor those submitted at the
end of the First World War, had any positive effects, because, among other
reasons, the various Romanian governments failed in lending an ear to
public opinion and refrained from getting involved in the process.
In 1918, when Greater Romania was established, a national committee
of Timoc Romanians proclaimed their union with the Romanian state
according to their perceived right to self-determination. The desire to
achieve the union of the Timocian population with the Romanian state on
the left bank of the Danube was also expressed through popular rallies
and thousands of signatures in 1941, when Yugoslavia was first
dismembered. During the totalitarian régime following the Second World
War, the condition of the Romanians who had been separated from the
rest only by the Danube River continued to be bad, nor were there any
fundamental changes concerning them, after 1990, in Bulgaria or in
Serbia. All the Romanian organizations established in these countries
aimed at obtaining recognition of their members as Romanians and at
being granted minimal cultural rights, according to the European
principles on minorities.
One final point to be made is that, during the last decades, given the
lack of interest of the Bucharest authorities in the fate of Balkan
Romanianism, a new political idea has emerged. Part of the Romanian
diaspora (including the Balkan Aromanians) began to view themselves as a
separate ethnic group, with their own Aromanian language, which had
developed and existed in parallel with the Romanian language. Assuming
this new dimension as a separate people, apart from the Romanian nation,
the Balkan Romanian Diaspora approached a number of national and
international authorities and even the European Parliament. The latter
adopted Resolution 1333/1997, intended to grant a degree of recognition
of that quality and to request the support of all European countries. As the
political movement of the Balkan Romanians was divided and lacked the
necessary means, it could not (and cannot) prevent the attrition of the
Romanian element on the right bank of the Danube. The Romanians in
that area are undergoing a massive process of assimilation and alienation,
for the authorities of the Balkan states, almost completely, deny the
existence of a Romanian ethnicity on their territories and all the rights that
would devolve from recognition.
5. The Case of Yugoslavia
Currently, the phrase, Yugoslav peoples, includes Serbs, Croats, Slovenes,
Macedonians, and several types of Bosnians: Serbs, Croats, and Muslims.
Former Yugoslavia also incorporated a Republic of Montenegro (Črna
Gora), formerly the little kingdom of Montenegro, the rulers of which were
NATIONALISM AND NATIONAL IDEAS
249
members of the Petrović Njegos Dynasty. From an ethnic point of view, the
inhabitants of Montenegro are, for the most part, Serbs. Attempts were
made, during the Second World War and then sporadically in recent years,
to theorize about the existence of a distinctly Montenegrin Slavic ethnic
group, but these ideas have failed to win acceptance.
The Bosnian problem is far more complicated. In the heart of former
Yugoslavia, Slavs belonging to the Croat ethnic group mingled with Slavs
belonging to the Serbian ethnic group. The two groups were primarily
distinguished by their affiliation with two different forms of Christianity
(Catholic and Orthodox) and therefore with two separate cultural areas:
Western and Byzantine. At the same time, there were frequent changes in
terms of state and political realities, so that turns to rule were taken by
either Serbian or Croat monarchs, or foreign rulers such as the Byzantine
Emperor, Hungarian kings, or (to a lesser extent) the Republic of Venice.
Ottoman rule brought further changes. A part of the Serbian population
migrated from the South and East, mingling with the Croats or replacing
some of them who chose to take refuge in the North, in the Habsburg
Empire. In parallel, part of the remaining population took up the religion of
the new rulers, converting to Islam and thus acquiring certain features
that distinguished them from the Christians alongside whom they lived.
Yet, their Slavic nature was preserved, and for a long period these
supporters of Mohammed were considered either Muslim Serbs or Muslim
Croats.
In the context of the internal and administrative-territorial organization
of the Ottoman world, present-day Bosnia and Herzegovina was divided
into several units with no separate organization. On the background of the
Habsburg expansionist tendencies and of the 1875-1878 Eastern crisis, a
need developed to establish a so-called province of Bosnia and Herzegovina
in the Central-Western Balkan Peninsula, to be a neighbour of the older
Habsburg possessions in Dalmatia. Its borders were artificially established
on the map of the Ottoman Empire and, in keeping with a previous
Russian-Austrian agreement, the new territory thus delimited was
transferred to Austro-Hungarian administration. Until 1908, the Ottoman
Sultan retained a theoretical right of suzerainty, but later on, the province
was fully annexed by the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
Habsburg rule over Bosnia and Herzegovina ceased in 1918. The
national authorities in what became Yugoslavia conceded that the land
was equally inhabited by Serbs and Croats, a reality that was further
recognized by the 1 December 1918 official establishment of Yugoslavia.
For a short period before that date, the territory of Bosnia and Herzegovina
had belonged to the so-called Serbian-Croat-Slovenian state established on
the Yugoslav territories formally part of the Habsburg Empire. This entity
had been governed, for a short period, by a national body based in Zagreb.
In the aftermath of the Second World War, as part of the plan to
implement a Soviet-inspired federalization scheme for future Yugoslavia,
Tito and his henchmen aimed at establishing six republics, one of which
was to be Bosnia and Herzegovina.
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The Yugoslav Constitution, adopted in 1945, officially sanctioned this
political reality. Statistics relative to the first post-war decade indicate that
the territory of Bosnia and Herzegovina was inhabited by Serbs, Croats,
and other ethnic groups, the respective percentages of which were
insignificant. After 1958, official censuses also included a new category –
Muslims – which designated an ethnic group rather than members of a
religion. Until the proclamation of Bosnia and Herzegovina as an
independent state, these Muslims were one of its ethnic components, along
with the Croats and the Serbs. According to the 1981 census (which
worked as reference statistics inside and outside Yugoslavia over a
substantial period), Muslims made up 39.5 percent, Serbs, 32 percent,
and Croats, 18 percent of the total population. According to the 1991
census, the Muslim population had reached 44 percent, while both Serbs
and Croats had lost one percentage point.
The situation being what it is, one can conclude that the idea of
establishing a separate state, called the Republic of Bosnia and
Herzegovina, did not exist prior to 1970. Yet, there were disputes –
between the two World Wars, during Tito’s régime, and chiefly after Tito’s
death – about the control and the practical division of Bosnia and
Herzegovina between Zagreb and Belgrade - between Serbs and Croats.
The year 1970 witnessed the appearance of a text entitled The Islamic
Declaration, the author of which glorified Islam and suggested a series of
necessary steps, among which the de-secularization and the reIslamization of all Muslims who had strayed from the faith, as well as the
gradual expansion of Islam. The author of the text was a Bosnian Muslim
who wanted, among other things, to turn Bosnia into the first Muslim
state in Europe. His name was Alia Izetbegović, none other than the
current President of the Republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina and the
leader of a fundamentalist party, supported by certain Middle Eastern
countries including Iran and Iraq, and known to be guided by the slogan,
Ot Stambula do Triesta da ne nada Kresta (Stamboul to Trieste across, we
don’t need any cross). Part of Izetbegović’s programme was also assumed
by the Kosovo Albanians, particularly after part of the programme was
implemented in some areas in Bosnia, following the tragic conflicts starting
in 1992.
Thus a new political idea has begun to propagate across contemporary
Europe: Islamic fundamentalism.
The situation of Macedonia is completely different. Historical Macedonia
does not coincide with the territorial limits of the homonymous state. In
the context of the last phase of the Eastern problem, ranging from the
Berlin Treaty to the First World War, Macedonia became the main stake
and a bone of contention not only among the great powers, but also among
Balkan Peninsula states which – in the open or with a hidden agenda –
hoped to meet their national expansionist objectives.
A number of ethno-demographic processes – migrations, colonizations,
immigrations, and assimilation – took place in Macedonia throughout the
centuries and created a veritable population mosaic. This diversity of
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251
ethnic elements went hand in hand with a generalized interpenetration,
which meant there was no ethnic group living on its own, without close
neighbours of a different ethno-linguistic group. None of the ethnic
elements in the region outweighed the others. Both in towns and in
villages there were Turks and Albanians, Greeks and Romanians, and
Jews and Gypsies who lived together, as well as so-called Macedonians, a
Slavic people distinct from other Southern-Slav peoples such as
Bulgarians, Serbs, Croats, etc.
As in the case of the Balkan Romanians, but to a much larger extent,
Macedonians have been (and still are) denied certain of their basic national
features, especially by their Greek and Bulgarian neighbours. Thus, a
whole “issue” came into being in regard to this Slavic population living in
the heart of the Balkan Peninsula. The issue in question actually sprang
from political interests and was then “documented” by so-called scientific
evidence. This situation appeared toward the end of the Nineteenth
Century when Serbia, Greece, and Bulgaria tried to become masters of the
game in the region, waging a propaganda war against one another and
sending armed raiding parties (komitadgies) into Macedonia. Great efforts
have been made (and their consequences are visible to this day) to
question the historical reality of the existence of a distinct Macedonian
people and to prove that Macedonians were a mere component of one of
the surrounding Slavic language-speaking peoples: Serbs, but particularly
Bulgarians, because of the similarity in language in the latter case. The
issue was and undoubtedly still is complex. It was raised and amplified by
the policies of the various countries in the region and by their mutual
relationships, in a crisis which started before the outburst of the Balkan
Wars and persisted long after they came to an end. History seems to bring
sufficient evidence in support of the undisputed existence (together with
other ethnic groups) of a distinct Macedonian people of Slavic origin, with
its own historical fate and occasionally sharing a common destiny with
other peoples, under certain circumstances.
This distinct ethnic existence, as well as the presence of other ethnic
groups living together, determined a number of historians at the beginning
of the century to write many works (with fully opposed statistical tables
and arguments) on the organization and perspectives of Macedonia. This
spate of interest provided a good opportunity for a wide variety of
suggested solutions: to grant autonomy and even independence to
Macedonia, to annex it to one of the Balkan successor states (this idea was
very popular among Bulgarians), or to divide it up among its neighbours,
as actually happened after the Treaty of Bucharest of 1913, by which
Greece got 52 percent, Serbia, 37 percent, and Bulgaria, 11 percent. The
share assigned to Serbia is the present-day independent Macedonia.
The proper solution might have been (as many of the numerous
Macedonians and Romanians living in the region would have preferred) to
create a distinct Macedonia which could have been either autonomous
(and under international control, if needed), or independent. The idea was
repeated obsessively during these years and then in a later period.
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Serbs and Croats are descendants of Slavs who migrated to the Balkan
region during the Sixth and Seventh Centuries. Their common origin was
not initially questioned. Only recently an Iranian descent has been
suggested alongside the Slavic origin as well as another affiliation with the
Western Slav branch, including Czechs, Slovaks, and Slovenes. One thing
is certain. Around the year 1000, the historical destiny of the Slavophones
living in the future territory of Croatia became increasingly separated from
that of the inhabitants of future Serbia.
The Croats managed to create their own forms of organized political life
before the Serbs did. These included a kingdom the legitimacy of which
was recognized by the Pope, thus setting the basis for a tradition often
recalled throughout the centuries and up to this day. The independent
Croatian state did not last very long. Most of Dalmatia fell into the hands
of Venice around the year 1000 and was then successively ruled by the
Ottomans, the French, and the Habsburgs. In 1102, according to a written
agreement, Croatia was included in the territories belonging to the Crown
of St. Stephen (Hungary) and remained under Hungarian domination until
the dissolution of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. The Croatian feudal class
preserved its privileged status, even though it often had to cope with the
rival Hungarian nobility, while Croatia enjoyed a genuinely autonomous
régime which continued in the Croat territories taken over by the
Habsburgs after the second Battle of Mohács (1687).
As a result of Austrian expansion after the 1683 siege of Vienna, new
Croat-inhabited territories were integrated into the Habsburg Empire, i.e.,
into a political system and a way of life typical of Central Europe. At the
same time, Croat Christians found themselves under the jurisdiction of
Rome from the very beginning and became a part of the Roman-Catholic
world after the great schism, a fact that brought them close to Central and
Western European developments. This western Christian link enabled the
Croats, on the model of the Italians, to undergo Renaissance and reform.
Indeed, the Sixteenth Century witnessed the emergence of the cultural and
political idea of Slovenianism, according to which all Southern Slavs were
one people who spoke only one language. Slovenianism, as an ideology,
was later replaced by Illyrism, which had almost the same political
connotations in the historical circumstances of the Eighteenth Century.
In pre-modern times, a certain unity of views existed with regard to the
language spoken by the Croats and the Serbs. Yet, except for the countless
local variants, a solid reality existed of three dialects, two of which would
give birth – owing to scholarly endeavours – to one single language called
Serbo-Croatian or Croato-Serbian.
The first awakening of Serbian national awareness took place in the
same Habsburg circles in which the representatives of all the Yugoslav
ethnic groups mingled. In Vienna, in Voivodina, chiefly in Karlowitz (Novi
Sad), and in other areas, significant efforts were made by Dositej
Obradović and Vuk Karadjić, the founders of Serbian rebirth. In a way,
they were the forerunners of the 1804-1815 Serbian Revolution led by
George Petrovich who founded the Karageorgevich Dynasty, and Milosh
NATIONALISM AND NATIONAL IDEAS
253
Obrenovich, in the aftermath of which – for the first time after many
centuries – a distinct Serbian political life emerged within a state enjoying
limited (and later enlarged) autonomy. This autonomy was recognized by
the Ottoman Empire and guaranteed by Russia, which gradually became
the principal ally of Serbia, from the standpoint of its expansionist policy
in the Balkans. Although slightly influenced by certain innovating Western
trends, the Serbian Revolution, at the end of the previous century, was by
and large the work of the rural masses who were unable, for quite some
time, to draw up distinct and specific political programmes.
At almost the same time as the emergence of the Croatian national
programme within the so-called Illyric movement, Serbia witnessed the
emergence of the nacertanie (the “project”), the idea of Ilia Garasanin, a
political personality who played an important role in the Serbian Kingdom.
Starting from the perceived need to preserve the independence of the
Serbian statal structures, Garasani designated a national objective to be
achieved in two phases. The first phase called for the freeing and the
uniting of all Serbs living both in the Habsburg and in the Ottoman
Empires. The second phase called for the uniting of all the Yugoslavs, by
the freeing of Bosnia and Herzegovina, the integration of Montenegro, and
a massive expansion toward the Adriatic Sea, which meant – among other
things – that the so-called Greater Serbia could at last be established and
that Austria would become the principal opponent of the Serbian national
idea.
Garasanin’s ideas dominated the Serbian political outlook until the
start of the First World War. They were genuinely fleshed out between the
two world wars and were partially taken up again after 1990. At the same
time, Garasani established a network of agents able to act, for and on
behalf of Belgrade, in various areas of the Yugoslav territory. Later on, in
keeping with different ways of tackling the methods, priorities, and
opportunities for bringing such a plan to fruition in Serbian public life, and
on the background of a rather weak parliamentary system, a number of
political parties came into existence with the aim of accomplishing this
national ideal.
Roughly during the same period, Croat South Slavism followed a
German model and preached the spiritual unity of all Yugoslavs based on
a common culture and a common language. In a sense, this movement
could be interpreted as a reaction against the Magyarization that had been
imposed before 1848. L. Gaj and I. Strossmayer spoke of a common race
and an almost identical language, actually outlining a project which was to
be later called Greater Croatia. Strossmayer went so far as to establish a
party which came to be known as the Croat Right Party and which later
denied the status of distinct national entities to both Serbs and Slovenes.
Even earlier, S. Starcević had pleaded for the total liberation of the
Yugoslav peoples from Austro-Hungarian rule and for their unification, the
latter aim obviously detrimental to aspirations for Serbian supremacy. In
Starcević’s view, Croat supremacy was intended to oppose pan-Slavism
(which he thought to be pan-Russianism), that he viewed as being as
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much a threat to the Croat national identity, as the Magyarism of
Budapest and the Germanism of Vienna. Starcević had a very important
influence upon the masses and especially upon the poor and the less
educated. Unanimously perceived as the father of modern Croat
nationalism, he later became a symbol in himself and was glorified in
many ways by the Croat ustashes. His contemptuous and insulting
attitude toward the Serbs gave rise to fierce, lasting, and ever deepening
disputes.
On Starcević’s death in 1917, attorney at law Ante Pavelić became the
new leader of the Croat Right Party. At the start, he followed the policy of
his predecessor, favouring the establishment of a large Croat state within a
federally organized Austria-Hungary. Later on, this state was to be
conceived as an independent Yugoslav federation, clearly distinct from
Serbia. It was supposed to include all the Yugoslav peoples who had
previously belonged to the Austro-Hungarian Empire and to be organized
along Swiss or American lines. This political agenda was promoted until
the end of the First World War.
In the complex circumstances of the generalized conflict at the
beginning of the Twentieth Century, a number of political programmes
were adopted. At the end of 1914, the Serbian Skupstina, which had taken
refuge in Niš, voted for a declaration in which the final objective of the
struggle of Serbia was to free and unite all the Yugoslav peoples, in other
words, to establish the Greater Serbia under the authority of Belgrade. In
1917, on the island of Corfu, representatives of the Pasić government and
of the Yugoslav emigration in the Austro-Hungarian Empire signed a
declaration stating that at the end of the First World War, a multinational
Serbo-Croato-Slovenian state would be born and organized according to
federal and egalitarian principles.
At the end of 1918, Yugoslavs were united in what was known for a
decade as the Kingdom of the Serbs, Croats, and Slovenes. After almost
three years of political confrontation, Serbian circles painfully imposed a
constitution ensuring the supremacy of Serbian elements and of the
Karageorgevich Dynasty in the new state. The history of Yugoslavia
between the two World Wars consisted to a great extent of the
confrontation between centralism and federalism in a state the
fundamental institutions of which were totally or massively dominated by
Serbs. National aspirations and decentralizing tendencies were neglected
by both the partly parliamentary régime and the totalitarian monarchic
régime established in 1929, following a coup. Serbian supremacy triggered
a strong opposition on the part of the Croats, who had, for a long period,
grouped around the Croat Peasants’ Party.
The Ustashes, a right-wing Croatian party led by Ante Pavelić made its
appearance in 1931. It was attracted to the totalitarian ideas inspired by
the Italian and the German model and was closely linked to Horthyist
elements in Hungary and to Macedonian terrorists. Its incentive for
existence was an exacerbated Croat nationalism which aimed at
eliminating Serbs, Jews, and Gypsies and actually began to implement
NATIONALISM AND NATIONAL IDEAS
255
these ideas as soon as they could take power within the so-called Croat
independent State proclaimed in April 1941 under the authority of Hitlerite
Germany.
In the Yugoslav region, the Second World War determined many things,
among which a mutual extermination of Serbs and Croats on orders from
their respective leaders, A. Pavelić, D. Mihailović, and B. Nedić. At this
moment, the new doctrine promoted by Josip Broz Tito and his communist
movement began to function.
Throughout the post-First World War years, Yugoslav Communists had
taken orders from Comintern agents and had made great efforts to bring
about the collapse of Yugoslavia and to fight against what was known as
Veliko-Serbianism. After the dissolution of Yugoslavia in the summer of
1942, the Communists drew up a new political programme that was
implemented over the following years. They recognized the existence of
several peoples on an equal basis, the ethnic affiliation of which had been
questioned for a long time, as all of them had been formally perceived as
mere Yugoslavs. The new Yugoslavia was to be organized according to the
equality of all its citizens who belonged to distinct nations or nationalities
and were divided into six republics, of which Serbia was to include two
autonomous regions: Voivodina in the North and Kosovo in the South. The
new federal state was to have collective leadership, for Tito took care to
surround himself with faithful people from all the Yugoslav ethnic groups.
Thus, the Croato-Slovenian Josip Broz Tito tried – and even succeeded
over a certain number of years - to moderate Serbian supremacy. At the
same time, he introduced a number of changes in terms of political
structures and property systems.
In this early period, Titoism was nothing but a variant, indeed a faithful
copy, of Stalinism. As in other fields, the Soviet model of the time was
adapted to the Yugoslav region and preserved in spite of the 1948 “schism”
between Moscow and Belgrade.
With many difficulties and the need for constant adjustments, the
Yugoslav state system lasted until Tito’s death in 1980 and even survived
for one more decade. Internal contradictions over development and living
standards among the Yugoslav peoples, as well as the whole impact of an
allegedly democratic, but actually totalitarian régime, gave rise to the 1990
explosion following which “socialist” Yugoslavia (and its Soviet model)
ceased to exist.
The former Yugoslav state was converted into four new states, which
declared themselves to be organized along national and democratic
principles, plus rump-Yugoslavia that included Serbia and its two
autonomous regions and Montenegro). The dissolution of Federal
Yugoslavia generated a true war among its successor states, as well as
various forms of external intervention, among which the efforts of NATO
and the United Nations.
This recent history is extremely complex and highly controversial. It will
be up to future historians to write and speak about it, being fully informed,
as objectively as possible, and sine ira et studio.
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G. ZBUCHEA
C. BIBLIOGRAPHY
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Bucharest, 1994.
HOBSBAWM, E. J. The Age of Extremes: 1914-1991. New York, 1995.
HOBSBAWM, E. J. Naţiuni şi naţionalism din 1870 până în prezent: Program,
mit, realitate. Chişinău, 1997.
HUTCHINSON, J., and SMITH, A. D., eds. Nationalism. New York, 1994.
IORGA, Nicolae. Istoria statelor balcanice în epoca modernă. Bucharest,
1913.
JELAVICH, B. History of the Balkans: Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries.
Cambridge, 1983.
KENNAN, G. F., ed. Drugite balkanski voini: Crizite na Balkanite: 1913 I
1993. Sofia, 1995.
KUPCHAN, C. A., ed. Nationalism and Nationalities in the New Europe.
London, 1995.
NATIONALISM AND NATIONAL IDEAS
257
Les Lumières de la formation de la conscience nationale chez les peuples du
sud-est européen. Bucharest, 1970.
Les Peuples de l’Europe de sud-est et leur role dans l’histoire (XV-XXème
siècles). Sofia, 1996.
Nesavarseniat mir: Doclad na mejdunarodna Komisia za Balkanite. Sofia,
1997.
PAPANACE, C. Geneza şi evoluţia conştiinţei naţionale la macedo-români.
Timişoara, 1995.
POP, Ioan-Aurel. Geneza medievală a naţiunilor moderne (Secolele XIII-XVI).
Bucharest, 1998.
Roots of Serbian Aggression. Zagreb, 1993.
SEISANU, R. Principiul naţionalităţilor. Bucharest, Albatros, 1996.
STAVRIANOS, L. C. The Balkans since 1453. New York, 1963.
STOYANOVICH, T. Balkan Worlds: The First and Last Europe. New York,
1994.
Tradition et innovation dans la culture des pays sud-est européens.
Bucharest, 1969.
TRAIKOV, V. Curente ideologice şi programe din mişcările de eliberare
naţională din Balcani până în anul 1878. Bucharest, 1986.
WEITHMANN, M. W. Balkan Chronik: 200 Jahre zwischen Orient und
Okzident. Vienna, 1995.
ZBUCHEA, Gheorghe. O istorie a românilor din Peninsula Balcanică (Secolele
XVII-XX). Bucharest, 1999.
ZWITER, F. Les Problèmes nationaux de la monarchie des Habsbourgs.
Belgrade 1960.
VII. Civil Society and the Breakdown of the
Totalitarian Régimes in Eastern Europe:
Case Studies
ADRIAN POP
A. CONCEPTS
1. Dictatorship
Dictatorship can be defined as a power-exerting political system in which a
person or a group of persons assumes and monopolizes power, exerting it
without any constraints or obstacles.
Roman dictatorship, before that of Sulla (83-79), was magistracy, a
temporary mandate to deal with exceptional situations, not a political
system. During their mandates, Roman dictators enjoyed discretionary
powers. Yet, they could not change laws, and any confiscations effectuated
during their mandates had to be returned when their periods of authority
came to a close.
Machiavelli put forward a resurrection of the idea of dictatorship. He
perceived it as an institution, but one having an ancient primary meaning.
The institutional touch would be further reinforced by the predominance of
the model of monarchical absolutism in Seventeenth and Eighteenth
Century Europe.
The relationship between monarchy and dictatorship follows certain
conventions. An absolute monarch can be considered a dictator from the
standpoint of his or her exercise of power, but not from the standpoint of
the legitimacy of that power. Monarchical rule is deemed legitimate if
access to power observes the rules of heredity or of elections and is
accepted as a normal governing form. A monarch who accedes to power by
means of a coup d’état can be considered an illegitimate usurper (a tyrant),
but may rid him- or herself of this stigma if he or she manages to formally
articulate the succession of his or her descendants. On the other hand, a
monarch who gains power lawfully may turn into a dictator (tyrant) by
means of what he or she actually does.
Such terms as dictator, tyrant, and despot can be taken as quasisynonymous. Tyranny designates any governing system the origins or
activities of which are tainted by unconstitutional practices, while
despotism is usually related to ancient oriental dictatorship.
One can identify and describe three types of dictatorship: i) simple
dictatorship, ii) caesarist dictatorship (Caesarism), and iii) totalitarian
dictatorship.
258
BREAKDOWN OF TOTALITARIAN RÉGIMES
259
In the case of a simple dictatorship, power is exerted through absolute
control with the use of all the traditional means of coercion (army, police,
administration, system of justice). There is no need for extended forms of
control. This type of dictatorship is found in those countries in which the
masses lack a true political consciousness, and policy concerns small
cliques, which compete with one another to gain the favours of the
dictator.
In the case of a caesarist dictatorship, one finds all the features of plain
dictatorship, plus mass support for access to (or exercise of) power. Such a
dictatorship usually develops when the masses tend to become politically
articulate. Examples of caesarist dictators include Spartan kings Agis IV
(244 B.C.) and Cleomenes III (238 B.C.), Pisistratus of Athens (560–527
B.C.), Gaius Julius Caesar, Octavian Augustus, Cola di Rienzi (Fourteenth
Century Rome), Girolamo Savonarola, Oliver Cromwell, Napoleon I
Bonaparte, Louis Napoleon, Benito Mussolini, Adolf Hitler, and Juan
Domingo Perón. In fact, the idea of a legitimate appeal to the masses in
order to gain access to power is a modern idea that was thoroughly
exploited for the first time during the French Revolution, when the concept
of popular sovereignty (J.-J. Rousseau) matured.
A totalitarian dictatorship is characterized by a state of police, rather
than by a state of law. Power is concentrated, instead of being diffused. A
state party monopolizes the political arena. Totalitarian forms of social
control come into existence that cause society and the state to merge so
that distinctions between them can no longer be made. Use is made of
terror. The techniques by means of which control over society is wielded in
a totalitarian dictatorship are the following: the leadership principle, by
which governing and responsibility belong exclusively to the high political
echelons of the state; the “synchronization” of all social organizations, so
as to serve the state; the atomization and isolation of the individual by the
breaking or the weakening of all social units based on hereditary links,
tradition, religion, working and leisure relationships, and their
replacement
by
all-encompassing
and
non-differentiated
mass
organizations. Culture is turned into propaganda.
2. Democratization and Liberalization
A former dictatorship has completed a democratic transition and can be
considered to be a strengthened democracy only if consensus has been
reached about the political methods to be used for establishing an elected
government; the government accedes to power through free general
elections and exerts a de facto authority needed to implement new policies;
and the executive, legislative, and legal powers refrain from any de jure
sharing of power with other political entities.
Democratization should be distinguished from liberalization. The
concept of liberalization refers to a basket of social and political steps that
aim at diminishing censorship, increasing the autonomy of the masses,
introducing civil rights (including habeas corpus), releasing (most of the)
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political prisoners, making possible the return of political émigrés, in some
cases at improving the distribution of incomes, and at toleration of an
opposition.
Democratization is liberalization plus free elections. A democracy exists
when none of the significant political groups tries to overthrow the
democratic régime or to secede from the state (the behaviourist point of
view). Even when confronted with major political and economic crises,
most of the people believe that all future political changes must observe
the parameters of democratic formulae (the attitudinal point of view). All
the players on the political stage agree that political disputes are to be
solved according to pre-established norms, and any infringement of these
norms will prove to be ineffective and costly (the constitutional point of
view). Several subtypes belong to strengthened democracy.
The minimal defining conditions for the existence of a strengthened
democratic régime include the following: a state which works and a free
and active civil society, a relatively autonomous political society, a state
apparatus which can be used by the new democratic government, and a
blooming economy.
Within a strengthened democracy, one can speak of interaction and
constant mediation that link civil society, political society, and the
economy. None of these can work without the support of the others. Civil
society requires a state of law to guarantee the right to freely associate and
to enforce legal penalties against any attempts to limit or to suppress this
right. Political society elaborates the Constitution and the laws, manages
the state apparatus, and produces the framework of a healthy economic
society. In its turn, the blooming economy is a basic prerequisite for civic
and political activity.
The “third wave” of democratization, as Samuel P. Huntington (1991)
calls it, started to manifest itself in Southern Europe - Greece, Portugal,
and Spain - in the mid-1970s, in the Southern Latin American cone (with
the exception of Chile) - Argentina, Brazil, and Uruguay - in the early
1980s, and in Eastern Europe - in the late 1980s.
3. Civil Society
Current political models, that make use of the concept of civil society, are
frequently contradictory and deficient in regard to categories, while their
connections with the conceptual traditions described above are indistinct
and somewhat blurred.
Aristotle is the inventor of a concept known as politike koinonia (political
society/community), the Latin version of which was societas civilis. Such a
community was a public ethical and political community consisting of free
and equal citizens in a system of government that was well defined from a
legal point of view. The law in itself was perceived as the expression of an
ethos, a common set of norms and values to define not only political
procedures, but also a life form based on virtues and patterns of
interaction.
BREAKDOWN OF TOTALITARIAN RÉGIMES
261
Aristotelian thinking did not allow for any distinction between state and
society. Politike koinonia was a mere koinonia among others, a category
including all forms of human association (even oikos, i.e., all the people
who lived under the same roof, in the same house), irrespective of the
solidarity, intimacy, or level of intensity of the interaction. At the same
time, it was the social system as a whole, a body consisting of several
parts, all viewed as outsiders. The Aristotelian notion was influential in
shaping the understanding of civil society up until the beginning of the
modern period.
St. Albertus Magnus and St. Thomas Aquinas tended to limit societas
civilis to the level of the medieval city-state (as being the closest equivalent
of the ancient polis). But since the Greek notion also assumed a
considerable degree of sovereignty, which only the Italian city-states tried
to obtain, this conception could not be preserved for a long period.
Concomitantly, the feudal order, based on fragmented sovereign units,
began to be described in various medieval texts as societas civilis res
publica. This use imperceptibly added a pluralist dimension to the general
meaning of the concept.
The growth of monarchical power in relation to the corporate entities
which had previously enjoyed an almost exclusive use of power led to the
introduction of a dual element. Civil or political society came to reflect a
duality of state organization (Ständestaat), with the Prince (the monarch),
on the one hand, and the People or the Nation (the privileged estates), on
the other hand.
The evolution toward monarchical absolutism represented the turning
point in the transition from the traditional to the modern meanings of the
concept.
The transition to a state-society duality was also favoured by the
emergence in North America of certain autonomous religious groups,
which were tolerated by the secular state, and in England, of new forms of
private economic activity, placed outside the policies of the mercantile
state.
Before the absolutist state could unsettle its corporate rivals by taking
advantage of their common status – i.e., subjects of the state – “society”
resorted, at the same time, to a counter-movement which enabled it to
reorganize itself against the state through associations and forms of public
life. Even if the latter derived their strength from the independence of the
estates, religious dissidence, and economic entrepreneurship, they were
already embodying new egalitarian and secular organizational principles.
The Eighteenth Century witnesed not only the rapid outrunning of the
illuminist outlook in John Locke and Charles Louis Montesquieu, but also
the traditional identification of political society with the state, as in JeanJacques Rousseau and later in Immanuel Kant. In France, civil society was
viewed as being opposed to the state, while the components of the latter
were conceived as autonomous and formally equal individuals – the only
holders of rights. In England, the separation of society and government, as
advocated by Locke, witnessed a rapid erosion. What was now understood
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A. POP
by “society” was actually a state in which the Parliament and the executive
were experiencing gradual merging. The word “society”, as distinguished
from the word, “state”, started to be used only for the high ranking political
class which acted as a depository of good manners, without any
involvement in political projects. But, generally speaking, the term, civil
society, retained its traditional identification with political society and the
state.
A new component was added to this identification by the thinkers
belonging to the so-called Scottish Enlightenment (Adam Ferguson, David
Hume, Adam Smith, etc.), who began to consider material organization the
basic feature of civil or “civilized” society. At this point, one can therefore
begin to speak of a new identification (or reduction), namely that between
civil society and economic society, as opposed to the ancient Aristotelian
exclusion of economic life from the politike koinonia.
A universalist connotation was added to the concept by I. Kant, who
viewed civil society as relying on the universal rights of mankind. In the
Kantian philosophy of history, universal civil society, founded on the rule
of law, was assumed to be the telos of human development.
In Johann Gottlieb Fichte’s view, society was completely distinguished
from the state and was understood both in individualist and universalist
terms.
G. W. Friedrich Hegel was the author of the first modern theory of civil
society. In formulating his theory, he attempted to put together, in a
prescriptive and at the same time descriptive scheme, the old idea of the
ethos and the modern conception of the freedom of the individual,
reconciling the ancient dimension of a homogeneous and unified political
society with the plurality of autonomous medieval entities. The ancient
republican component of this outlook (Aristotle, etc.) relies on the pillars of
ethical life and public freedom. The post-medieval component (Charles
Montesquieu and a number of German sources) implies a renewed stress
laid on intermediate entities. The modern component consists of three
major features: the universalist definition of the individual as a bearer of
rights and as an agent of moral consciousness (Kant), the generalization of
the illuminist distinction between state and civil society, also allowing for
(and involving) their interpenetration, and the underlining of the economic
dimension of civil society as a repository and carrier of material civilization
(Scottish Enlightenment). Ethical life in itself is differentiated in a way
which combines the two dualities – oikos/polis and state/society – in a
tripartite structure: family, civil society, and state.
Inspired by the way public affairs were dealt with at the communal level
in the United States of America, Alexis de Tocqueville (1954) developed a
concept of civil society that was firmly committed to the idea of
administrative decentralization.
According to Antonio Gramsci’s vision of civil society (1971), it is first
necessary to conquer cultural hegemony before attempting to conquer
political power. Such an outlook emphasizes the cultural resources of civil
society as opposed to the administrative resources used by the state.
BREAKDOWN OF TOTALITARIAN RÉGIMES
263
According to Gramsci (1971), associational forms, cultural institutions,
and the values of civil society, even though they are autonomous, are the
most adequate means by which to reproduce bourgeois hegemony and to
forge social consensus. In consequence, this version of civil society is best
destroyed and replaced by alternative forms of association, intellectual life,
and cultural values capable of replacing current bourgeois forms.
The outlook of Talcott Parsons regarding societal community as being
distinguished in terms of economy, political organization, and culture,
represents a synthesis of the liberal concept of civil society and a partial
and willing return to the Hegelian theory of civil society.
According to Parsons, societal community is the integrative subsystem
of society. Its function is to integrate a social system which is differentiated
through the institutionalization of cultural values. The differentiation of
societal community from economic, political, and cultural subsystems is
therefore achieved by means of three revolutions – industrial, democratic,
and educational – each of which stands for a step toward its being rid of
the other subsystems.
In Parsons’s view, an association represents a corporatist ensemble the
members of which are in a relationship of solidarity, one with the other, in
the sense that they have a consensual relationship in regard to a common
normative structure. Parsons believes that this consensus (generally based
upon prestige and reputation) is the source of the “identity” of the
association. The associational principle also implies a different
determination of collective action. The main decisions come from the
organization itself, which does more than simply implement them, as in
the case of the bureaucratic principle. For Parsons, all organized
frameworks have associational components, but one can only speak of a
genuine association when these components are predominant.
Other valuable contributions to the critical redefinition of the concept of
civil society can be found in the works of Norberto Bobbio, Carl Schmitt,
Hannah Arendt, Reinhard Koselleck, Michael Foucault, Niklas Luhmann,
Jürgen Habermas (1991), and Andrew Arato (1992a, 1992b). These
contributions are relevant to the Eastern European transitions.
4. The Concept of Crisis: A Systemic Approach
When adopting a systemic approach, one speaks of a crisis when the
structure of a social system allows for fewer problem-solving possibilities
than are necessary for system perpetuation. Thus, crises are viewed as
persistent disturbances of the integrative capacity of the system. Social
systems can alter their systemic elements, their values, or both, in order to
secure a new control level. When a system changes both its borders and its
structural continuity, it is not always easy to determine whether or not a
new system has come into being or if simply the old system has been
regenerated. It is only possible to think of a crisis when the members of a
society experiment with critical structural changes meant to perpetuate
this society and then come to feel that social identity is threatened. The
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A. POP
disturbances occurring in the integrative capacity of the system only
threaten its perpetuation to the extent to which they give rise to the
questioning of social integration, that is, to a situation whereby the
consensual basis of normative structures is so weakened that society
becomes anomic. When this situation arises, the resulting crisis is
reflected in the disintegration of social institutions.
From a historical perspective, a social system is perceived to have lost
its identity when succeeding generations are no longer part of the
constituted tradition.
Jürgen Habermas (1991) distinguishes between social and systemic
integration. With him, social integration refers to institutional systems in
which subjects are socially related. Social systems here are viewed as lifeworlds (worlds that are lived) that are symbolically structured. Systemic
integration has to do with the guiding capacities of a self-controlling
system. According to Habermas’s conception (1991), social systems are
viewed in terms of their capacity to preserve their borders and their
existence through the way in which they control the complexity of a
changing environment.
From a social perspective, emphasis is laid on the normative structure
(values and institutions) of a society and on the extent to which events
depend on the function of social integration.
From a systemic perspective, the focus lies on the guiding capacities of
a society and the contingency action area, while events are analyzed in
terms of their dependence on the functions of systemic integration.
According to Habermas (1991), this twofold perspective permits one to
postulate the limits of tolerance within which the goal-values of the system
can vary without threatening its perpetuation. These limits manifest
themselves as limits of historical continuity.
The formation of a society is determined by a fundamental organizing
principle which delimits, in the abstract, the possibilities for the alteration
of social estates. Organizational principles are abstract rules which define
the range of possibilities and limit the capacity of a society to learn without
losing its identity. According to this definition, guiding problems can only
have crisis effects when they cannot be solved within the area of
possibilities circumscribed by the organizational principle of society.
Organizational principles begin by establishing which subsystem economic, political, or socio-cultural – can assume functional preeminence in society and hence guide social evolution.
Systemic crises are fundamental to a clear understanding of revolutions
(yet, cases exist of systemic changes that are more dramatic than those
usually called revolutions).
Generally speaking, crises manifest themselves over three dimensions:
dysfunction, that is, economic crisis; rationality crisis, that is, a social
process that generates elements that contradict the rationality of the
system; and administrative crisis, that is, a situation arising when the
bureaucratic apparatus triggers off a competition among its exponents and
hinders its good functioning.
BREAKDOWN OF TOTALITARIAN RÉGIMES
265
A systemic crisis implies both the gathering of certain systemic
dysfunctions and the existence of a number of players able to question the
régime by their very actions. In a theoretical perspective, the concept of
crisis is especially useful whenever there is an attempt to answer a difficult
and complex question; i.e.: Why did communism collapse in 1989?
5. Revolution
Revolutions were facilitated once the idea of natural and social inequality
began to be questioned on a regular basis. Although the prerequisites to
this questioning can be found in John Locke and Adam Smith, its origins
lie in America, for the new continent was the place in which the rich and
the poor first enjoyed a certain equality. This spirit infused all subsequent
revolutions. Yet, there is a fundamental difference between the ancient
idea of equality (people are unequal since the day they are born, which is
why they need an institution, the polis, to make them equal) and the
modern idea (people are born equal and became unequal because of social
and political conditions).
As pointed out by Hannah Arendt (1985), freedom and a new beginning
are crucial elements for comprehending revolutions. Revolution, as a
modern concept, implying the need to intervene in the course of history, is
a product of those revolutions that took place at the end of the Eighteenth
Century. Viewed from this vantage point, a symptomatic action was the
elaboration of a new calendar during the French Revolution, the first year
of which marked the execution of the King and the proclamation of the
Republic. By this action, the birth of the Republic coincided with a whole
(Biblical and Roman) tradition according to which the dawn of human
history was tainted by murder: the killing of Abel by Cain and of Remus by
Romulus. Revolutions are the only political phenomena that must directly
and unavoidably face the issue of the beginning.
In its first meaning, the term, revolution, described the regular,
recurrent, and cyclical movement of stars, according to certain specific
laws. One example of the residual acceptation of the term is in the
designation, Glorious Revolution, that marked the restoration of
monarchic power to its former greatness. This meaning is very important
in the sense that revolution actually meant restoration. Seventeenth and
Eighteenth Century revolutions were meant to be restorations. The French
and the American Revolutions were carried out by people who thought
they were restoring a previous state which had been violated by the
despotism of an absolute monarch or by the abuses of a colonial
government. Thomas Paine went so far as to suggest that the two
revolutions should actually be called “counter-revolutions”.
The second analogy with astronomy regarding revolution is that
revolutions must occur regularly, the same way in which the rotation of
the stars follows a pattern that is predetermined and free of any human
influence. It seems that this meaning of the term was first used in July
1789, in reference to the fall of the Bastille. The notion was conceptualized
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in the Nineteenth Century and transformed into the idea of historical
necessity from which the Marxist interpretation drew its inspiration.
According to Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, revolutions are agents of
historical change based upon social class affiliation. They are violent,
ineluctable, and bring about radical economic, social, and political
transformations, opening new stages in the development of mankind.
For Lenin, revolutions take place when people will no longer tolerate the
old régime and the latter is no longer capable of ruling in the old way.
The Marxist notion of the inevitability of violence in the carrying out of
revolutions influenced non-Marxist thinking at different levels, and to
different extents, the outlooks of some of the most influential theories of
revolution.
If Karl Marx stirred a trend of thought that views revolution as
progressive and beneficial, Alexis de Tocqueville inspired caution, pointing
to the fact that revolution leads to the strengthening of state power.
Carrying this point further at a later date, Max Weber suggested that the
revolutionary levelling described by de Tocqueville (1954) would lead to
increased bureaucratization.
The metaphorical approach to the definition of revolution is best
exemplified by Crane Brinton and Mark N. Katz (1999). Whereas the
former compares the course of revolution to the course of fever, the latter
prefers murder as the metaphor.
The psychological approach is, perhaps, most salient in Ted Robert
Gurr’s theory of relative deprivation (1971) that focuses on motive. Gurr
tries to explain why revolutions occur, not in the poorest nations, but in
those undergoing modernization, where significant economic development
has already occurred. In accordance with his theory, the citizens of the
former have extremely low expectations with regard to their government
and thus do not seek to overthrow it. By contrast, the expectations of
citizens in the latter grow more rapidly than government can satisfy them,
creating a sense of relative deprivation that can lead to revolution.
In his attempt to explain why secessionist movements have been
occurring and multiplying in the post-Cold War environment, M. N. Katz
(1999) has applied T. R. Gurr’s basically economics-oriented theory (1971)
to the political realm arguing that “secessionist revolution” results from a
sense of relative political deprivation. Similarly, the same author has tried
to apply the concept of ressentiment (resentment) as developed by Liah
Greenfeld in relation to nationalism, to the sphere of international
relations, examining “how successful revolutionaries and revolutionary
régimes have been achieving their ressentiment-based international goals,
as well as how their sense of ressentiment tends to evolve over time”.
Whereas Gurr’s theory (1971) and Katz’s interpretation (1999) concentrate
on the motive for revolution, Theda Skocpol’s theory of revolution (1979)
focuses on opportunity, taking as case studies the French, Russian, and
Chinese revolutions. For Skocpol (1979), the opportunity for revolution
arises as a result of a state breakdown which occurs when the interests of
the ruling class and the state diverge sharply, thus allowing the oppressed
BREAKDOWN OF TOTALITARIAN RÉGIMES
267
classes to rise up and overthrow their rulers. Accordingly, revolutions are
to be viewed as “rapid, basic transformations of a society’s state and class
structures; and they are accompanied and in part carried through by
class-based revolts from below”.
Samuel P. Huntington (1996) proposes a more comprehensive definition
of revolution that, however, preserves the traditional “rapid-violent
theoretical framework”. A revolution is a rapid, fundamental, and violent
domestic change in the dominant values and myths of a society, in its
political institutions, social structure, leadership, and government activity
and policies”. Huntington’s main point is that a crucial aspect of
modernization is the demand for increased participation in politics. When
certain groups do not have access to political power, their claims for it may
lead to revolution.
By contrast, Charles Tilly’s definition (1993) of a revolution “as a state of
multiple sovereignty” is more circumscribed. According to him, a
revolution “begins when a government previously under the control of a
single, sovereign polity becomes the object of effective, competing, mutually
exclusive claims from two or more separate polities”, and it “ends when a
single polity - by no means necessarily the same one - regains control over
the government”. Although reducing the concept to its strictly political
dimension - the replacement of a group of power holders by another group
- Tilly (1993) implicitly admits the possibility of non-violent revolutions. By
doing so, he makes a major contribution to the understanding of the
specific features of some of the Eastern European revolutions.
To Hannah Arendt (1985) too, revolutions are chiefly political events.
But unlike Tilly, Arendt posits as revolution only the violent change of
government. From Arendt’s point of view (1985), one can only speak of a
revolution when such a thing as the pathos of novelty is linked to the idea
of freedom, and only then when changes are made in the sense of “a new
beginning”, and violence is used “at least to institute freedom” and a totally
new form of government.
In general, however, modern theories of revolution allow for both violent
and non-violent forms of revolutionary upheaval. This duality is underscored,
for instance, by Karl-Dieter Opp’s definition of revolution as the “replacement
of the élite and the introduction of a new political and economic order after
(violent or non-violent) protests by the population.
B. THE 1989 EASTERN EUROPEAN REVOLUTIONS
The revolutionary year, 1989, can only be understood in terms of the
previous attempts at challenging the state-party and questioning the postwar status quo: the East German workers’ uprising (1953), the Hungarian
anti-communist revolution of 1956, the Prague Spring of 1968, and the
Polish crisis (1980-1981).
These four moments reflect three different, but at the same time,
complementary strategies of political change: the “revolution from below”
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(the 1953 and 1956 events), the “reform from above” (the 1968 events),
and the “self-limiting revolution from below” (the 1980-1981 events).
1. The Role of Civil Society
Thus, the rediscovery of civil society in Poland took place after the double
failure of the “revolution from below” (the German Democratic Republic,
1953, and Hungary, 1956) and of the “reform from above” (Czechoslovakia,
1968). The Polish project for political change brought together two
elements. The agent of change was to be society organized at the grassroots level, while its target was to be civil society rather than the state,
within a self-limiting process.
Later on, the Polish project was extended into Hungary and the Soviet
Union. When the reconstitution of civil society was started in the Soviet
Union as an intrinsic element of reform from above, the intention was to
circumscribe it to well-defined limits. But before long, these associations,
that had only been meant to exert an economic pressure, began to expand
their concerns into the social and the political fields. Facing such a
situation, Soviet power had to cope with the following (theoretically, more
general) dilemma. If movements making up civil society can be easily
stopped, they cannot be instrumental in breaking resistance to reform; if
they are too strong, they become unpredictable and can no longer be
controlled. And this uncontrolability is what actually developed in the long
run.
The Hungarian opposition rewrote the Polish programme, insisting that
changes within society had to be suitably (but less radically) accompanied
by changes in the sphere of the state-party. In 1987, this idea (in the
elaboration of which an important role was played by the philosopher,
János Kis) took the form of the so-called Social Contract, which stipulated
the restoration of civil society in all its dimensions and the reform of the
political system (the preservation of the Communist Party, but in a
constitutionally legal framework, as well as the introduction of certain
democratic elements).
In terms of the traditions of classic revolution, “the new evolutionism”
(Adam Michnik, 1985), “the power of the powerless” (Václav Havel, 1989),
or the “anti-politics” (György Konrád and Iván Szelényi, 1979) represented
real theoretical breaches with practical implications. It is true that the
great revolutions (French, Bolshevik, and Chinese) not only demobilized
the social forces on the support of which they initially depended, but they
also took dictatorial steps intended to stop the re-emergence of those
forces for as long as possible. The “self-limiting revolution” proposed by
Eastern Europeans had quite an opposite goal, i.e., to establish, bottom
up, an organized and autonomous civil society.
Despite certain critics who have a different view, the concept of the selflimiting revolution is viable for the realities of post-communist transition
as well. Avoiding the danger of the total annihilation of the opposition,
which would only be a new form of totalitarianism (although a “soft” form,
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dressed in “democratic garb”), such a concept provides the framework the
presence of which removes the major risk of denying the means of selforganization and of self-defense to society. Only very recently has civil
society in Eastern Europe taken on a new objective – that of combating
those tendencies toward corruption and clientelism that tend to be
inherent to liberal democracy. Questioning all forms of monism (even
liberal monism), which has always been a critical task of civism, remains a
major task in the post-communist era.
2. Transition Paths
Although fully validated throughout 1989, Henry Kissinger’s domino
theory was of little help in predicting both the order in which the East
European dominoes would fall, one after the other, and the different ways
in which these countries would emerge from communism. From this point
of view, one can say that the success of negotiations in Poland showed the
Hungarians what might be the “right” way for a political change in their
country. This change, in its turn, stimulated protest rallies in East German
streets. The collapse of the German Democratic Republic sped up the fall
of the totalitarian régime in Czechoslovakia. Ultimately, the events in
Czechoslovakia completed the isolation of the ultra-conservative régimes in
Bulgaria and Romania, and the breakdown of the latter precipitated the
fall of its counterpart in Albania.
3. Transition through Negotiation: The Cases of Poland and Hungary
The transition of Spain from dictatorship to democracy is a stellar example
of the negotiated transition model. Experts unanimously consider this
transition to have been one of the most successful changes of régime out of
twenty such changes which took place between 1974 and 1988.
In Spain, the transition from authoritarianism to democracy was
accomplished neither by a radical break with the past, nor by a selftransformation of the political régime itself, but rather as the result of a
number of pacts in which several political actors were key players in a
process of negotiated reform, followed by a negotiated rupture. This reality
is described in Spanish by such terms as reforma pactada and ruptura
pactada. While the first term encapsulates the element of continuity
related to the Francoist régime, the second envisages the very break with
it. What had actually started as reform ended up being a radical change.
Similarly, the common ground of the Polish and Hungarian cases has to
do precisely with the existence of certain groups – within the power élite,
but also within the opposition – the members of which understood the
need for compromise. In both cases, reforming communists negotiated
agreements with the opposition, sitting at the same Round Table and thus
leading the way out of communism. In both countries, state-party leaders
attempted the economic reform solution at the beginning of the transition
period but did not do away with the political institutions of the old régime.
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What specifically distinguishes the Hungarian from the Polish case is
mainly the fact that both the reformists and the opposition members were
too weak to implement the compromises on which they had agreed. The
reformists were too weak to speak on behalf of the régime, while the
opposition was too weak to speak on behalf of the whole of society.
From this vantage point, although both transitions were negotiated
ones, the Polish and the Hungarian cases vary in terms of the institutional
results they obtained at the end of the first stage of transition. In Poland,
the fact that the opposition was perceived as being strong led to a
compromise, institutional arrangements combining aspects of liberal
democracy with aspects of state-party government. The result of this
compromise was a presidential parliamentary system, one different from
the classical type. In Hungary, the fact that the régime in power perceived
the opposition as being weak led to the establishment of a parliamentary
system that did not rely on a previously negotiated arrangement. Faced
with a weaker opposition than that of Solidarity in Poland, as well as with
a different organizational identity and institutional configuration,
Hungarian communist reformers chose direct electoral competition as a
means of power stabilization, even if it lacked contractual guarantees.
a. POLAND
The 1970s led to the breakdown of the last hopes of leftist Polish
intellectuals for the reform of the communist régime from within. In March
1968, the communist government purged the main institutions of the state
of reformist elements and, in December 1970, a workers’ strike ended in
bloodshed.
In these circumstances, a new oppositional strategy known as “the new
evolutionism”, which has similarities with Antonio Gramsci’s revolutionary
theory (1971), began to be promoted by prominent ex-Marxist revisionists
such as Leszek Kołakowski, Jacek Kuroń, and Adam Michnik (1997).
Focused on reconstituting societal bonds and the deliberate neglect of the
state-party, the new strategy was implemented in June 1976, after another
round of violent suppression of worker protests, when the Workers’
Defense Committee (KOR) was set up by a group of fourteen intellectuals
led by Kuroń and Michnik (1997). Owing to the pragmatic character of its
actions organized in support of the workers, KOR would become the
embryo from which the independent trade union, Solidarnośċ (Solidarity),
would evolve.
Against the background of an alarming economic situation and a new
wave of strikes, the signing of the Gdansk agreements on 31 August 1980
implied the introduction of a new contractual relationship between the
state and civil society in Poland. This change in relationship was due to the
fact that although the strikes constituted a collective action by members of
a specific industry and workplace, the demands of the Gdansk Interfactory Strike Committee, led by Lech Wałęsa, concerned Polish society at
large.
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Unfortunately, the experiment was put to an end with the imposition of
martial law on 13 December 1981. Yet, by that time, Solidarity had
expanded its membership to around ten million, becoming an alternative
form of social organization, cohesion, and understanding.
Although outlawed and driven underground, the Solidarity movement
continued to enjoy the support of the population at large.
Eventually, with the accession to power of Mikhail Gorbachev in the
Soviet Union, a new era of political relaxation began in Poland, too. In
1986, the state granted amnesty to almost all the remaining political
prisoners; the censorship was partly removed; and the observance of the
right of association was improved. Moreover, the economic legislation was
revised so as to allow the existence of a small private sector in industry.
Yet, the possibility for an authentic dialogue between the communist
establishment and the opposition only matured when the deepening of the
economic and social crisis threatened to make Polish society ungovernable.
The timid opening gestures made by the régime became insufficient, given
the strike waves shaking Poland (April and August 1988).
Both the government and the opposition came to understand that they
could only take the country out of the deadlock in which it found itself if
they negotiated at a Round Table. Negotiations began in February 1989,
and the result was the signing of protocols listing agreements and
disagreements between the government and the opposition. It should be
noted that these negotiations took place outside the legal framework of
Poland. On the one hand, the governing institutions of the state-party did
not delegate authority to the government negotiating team. On the other
hand, their interlocutors were not officially representing the rest of society.
Indeed, during the period of negotiations, Solidarity remained an illegal
organization.
The political agreement reached on 5 April 1989 gave back legal status
to Solidarity and other components of Polish civil society. The institutional
framework was revised by the establishment of a new presidency, with
important prerogatives concerning foreign policy and security, a
parliamentary upper chamber – the Senate – elected by a free vote, and a
lower chamber - the Sejm – in which the opposition was given 35 percent
of the seats, and the coalition led by the Communists, 65 percent.
Electoral arrangements gave the government the opportunity to put up a
National List composed of thirty-five persons closely linked to the régime,
including participants in the Round Table negotiations, who were to run
for election without any kind of opposition. The Communists kept control
of the key ministries (defense and internal affairs), while the opposition
was allowed to publish its own materials and to have limited access to
government-controlled audio-visual communication channels.
In the June 1989 elections, the opposition won 99 seats out of 100 in
the Senate. No communist-led coalition candidate was elected for office in
the Sejm, while 33 out of the 35 candidates on the National List did not
receive the majority they needed. The electoral law did not allow for a
second round of voting for the National List candidates. At this point,
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Solidarity intervened, declaring that it would comply with the negotiated
ratio of the Sejm seats and would support a change in the electoral law (in
the midst of an electoral process!), so that in the second round the
government coalition would be able to fill the 33 seats lost on the National
List. One month later, during the presidential elections (19 July), when
certain deputies of the so-called party coalition were no longer willing to
automatically vote for General Wojciech Jaruzelski, certain prominent
Solidarity deputies waited for the vote count and then deliberately
invalidated their own votes, simply to make sure that Jaruzelski would be
elected.
In August 1989, A. Michnik’s bon mot (1985), “your president, our
prime-minister” (in fact, the title of an essay published in the Gazeta
Wyborcza [Electoral Gazette - the Solidarity daily newspaper]) was realized.
Jaruzelski’s and Wałęsa’s choice for the office of Prime Minister was
Tadeusz Mazowiecki, a reformist Catholic intellectual and former Solidarity
adviser. The decision was allegedly preceded by a telephone call from
Gorbachev to the Polish communist leader, Mieczyslaw Rakowski,
expressing Moscow’s approval of a Solidarity government with a
communist minority. Thus, on 12 September 1989 Mazowiecki became the
first non-communist Prime Minister in a Warsaw Pact country.
Apart from the breakdown of the communist régime, perhaps the most
important consequence of the Round Table negotiations for Polish society
was the fact that, by the relative rapprochement of the two sides through
the sharing of common experiences and efforts to reach negotiated
experiences, solid bases were laid for the future post-communist political
class.
b. HUNGARY
Between the final months of 1956 and May 1988, the János Kádár régime
went through basically four different phases. After a period of utter
dependence on Khrushchev’s support and on that of the Stalinist cadres
he had inherited from the Rákosi régime (1956-1963), Kádár embarked on
an ambitious programme of reform, the main pillar of which was the
Hungarian New Economic Mechanism (1963-1971). The consumerism it
embodied and the low-key steering of public affairs by the régime paid off
politically, Kádár being largely perceived as a benevolent national leader
(1972-1980). Eventually, the growing burden of policy-making
responsibilities, the diminishing range of ideologically-correct economic and
political choices available to him, and arguably, his declining health, made
Kádár’s legitimating strategy less effective (1981-1988).
Once János Kádár had been removed from the Party leadership in May
1988, several identifiable factions emerged within its structures. The
conservative group, led by the new first secretary, Károly Grósz, favoured a
weakening of the role played by the Party apparatus, a relaxation of
censorship, and an increasing role for the Party satellite organizations
(unions, professional structures, etc.). Reformers led by Imre Pozsgay
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favoured a larger role for the autonomous organizations in relation to the
state-party, stressing dialogue with civil society.
Fears that the economic situation in Hungary would bring about a
social and political crisis similar to that of 1956 caused the leaders of the
régime to seek a compromise with the organized forces in society. On the
other hand, the lesson of the 1956 Soviet intervention determined the
leaders of the incipient social and political groups to seek a compromise
with the régime rather than question its legitimacy.
The confrontational strategy of the Party hard-liners was the element
that eventually determined the communist reformers and the democratic
opposition to replace the strategy of institutional compromise with that of a
free electoral competition. This confrontational strategy arose from the
assumption that a multiparty system could be created by the Party itself
by allowing political institutions to engage in “consultations with society”.
According to this view, the remedy for any social crisis was thought to be
the limited liberalization of society rather than a full democratization of the
state. The actual aim of such an initiative was to keep the fundamental
political institutions of the new order intact. The core of this strategy was
confrontation in a large variety of forms: frontal attacks, attempts at
institutional incorporation based on the practice of divide et impera, etc.
By the end of 1988 and at the beginning of 1989, this strategy was
replaced with another one, focused on an attempt to neutralize the
opposition. The first effort in this direction was to draft a law on
associations, which, if passed by Parliament, would have given the stateparty full control over the ways in which independent organizations might
come into being. Later, another proposition called for the Parliament (in
which the percentage of Party members was 75 percent) to adopt a new
Constitution that would only permit the existence of organizations
accepting “socialism”. Moreover, a special Constitutional Court, the
members of which were to be appointed by the Party, would have to decide
which of the existing political organizations could be officially registered.
Along with the weakening and the marginalization of the opposition, a
further attempt was made to divide it by opening bilateral negotiations
with various independent organizations that had just begun to establish
themselves as political parties.
When even these tactics failed, the next step was to try to turn the
organizations of civil society into Party satellites in order to preserve the
“historic” role of the Party. Thus, at the end of March 1989, the Central
Committee called for a Round Table to begin discussions on 8 April, with
the participation of all important political and social organizations. Within
this paternalistic strategy, the stress laid on negotiations was nothing
more than an attempt to elaborate upon the claims of the Party to “stand
for” the whole of society. The opposition rejected this proposal. Thus,
formal negotiations between the Party and an umbrella-federation would
only begin on 13 June 1989.
In the meantime, reformers secured support from the forces in the
régime for a new outlook on the future of the Party. Questioning the old
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paternalistic view of Party representativity, these reformers instituted a
Round Table-type negotiation framework that was much closer to the civic
principles of electoral competition.
At the end of 1988, the most important political organizations of the
opposition were the Hungarian Democratic Forum, the Alliance of Free
Democrats, and the Federation of Young Democrats. The first and more
moderate of these, the Hungarian Democratic Forum, was the expression
of national, Christian, and rural traditions in Hungary. The other two, that
were more radical, stood for the liberal, urban, and secular wing of the
opposition.
The opposition began to radicalize its outlook in September, 1988, when
a group of environmentalists protested in front of the Parliament building
against the construction of the Nagymaros-Gabcikovo dam on the Danube
River, and obtained support from major independent organizations. This
demonstration was followed by parallel demonstrations celebrating the
Hungarian Revolution of 1848 (beginning on 15 March). Eight days later,
eight independent organizations joined hands under an umbrellafederation: the Opposition Round Table. In the meantime, after thirty-one
years, the secret burial place of Imre Nagy, the hero of the 1956 Hungarian
Revolution, was revealed. A huge crowd (200,000 to 250,000 people) was
reported to be present at his official reburial.
Feeling politically vulnerable when faced with the new situation that
had begun to evolve as of the end of March 1989, local Party leaders began
to send messages to the center, advising it to give up its policy of
elimination and switch, instead, to one of competition. Active as early as
the end of 1988, these local reforming circles gradually gained ascendancy
over the conservative Party leadership.
Beginning on 13 June 1989, Round Table negotiations – formally
tripartite negotiations (Party, satellite organizations, opposition), but in
reality, bilateral (because one party could not block any decision reached
by the other two parties) – were carried out in twelve committees and
ended in September 1989, when an agreement was signed regarding a
series of drafts and important constitutional amendments.
The most determinedly anti-communist organizations refused to sign
the agreement. Thus new tension developed among the opposition parties,
namely between the Free Democrats and the Hungarian Democratic
Forum led by Jósef Antal.
On 23 October 1989, the new (no longer “Peoples’“) Hungarian Republic
was proclaimed.
After a referendum by means of which the free democrats managed to
delay the holding of presidential elections until after the parliamentary
elections, most of the votes in the March–April 1990 electoral campaign
went to the Hungarian Democratic Forum (43 percent).
Thus, the rapid reconfiguration of the political arena, followed by a free
electoral competition and the creation of a classic parliamentary system,
made the Hungarian transition case somewhat different from that of
Poland.
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Communist reformers were forced to take action by an opposition that
was well organized and that, provoked in its turn by the Party “hardliners”, replaced the initial strategy based on compromise with a different
one, focused on mobilization and the denial of a will to compromise. The
mobilization and confrontation strategy chosen by the opposition triggered
a polarization of forces and hurried the ascension of reformers within the
régime. In its turn, the anticipation of the electoral weaknesses of the
opposition made reformers give up the confrontational policy and focus
instead on a free electoral competition. From this point of view, it is
possible to conclude that the Hungarian case is the first example proving
that it is possible to use free elections to replace communism.
4. Transition through Capitulation: The Cases of East Germany and
Czechoslovakia
The two cases of the collapse of communist dictatorship in the German
Democratic Republic and Czechoslovakia have one thing in common,
namely, the manner in which certain key players from the top of both
communist leaderships simply surrendered to the pressures coming from
below. Unlike the two other Central European situations, these were not
negotiated transitions, even though an element of negotiation was present
in different degrees and at various points in time, in both cases.
a. THE GERMAN DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC
In 1971, Walter Ulbricht, the leader of the Socialist Unity Party, was
removed and replaced by Erich Honecker, one of his closest associates.
Honecker combined a policy of systematic political repression with large
material concessions to the masses at large. He was able to do so by
expanding economic relations with the West. In 1972, a treaty between the
Federal Republic of Germany and the German Democratic Republic was
signed, normalizing the political relations between the two states. As a
result, trade between them expanded exponentially. At the end of the
decade, 30 percent of East German foreign trade was conducted with the
West. The German Democratic Republic received from the government of
the Federal Republic technical assistance, huge loans, and millions of
German Marks in cash in transit duties and for purchasing the freedom of
political prisoners. Close personal contacts were formed between the two
governments, and regular consultations were arranged. On this basis,
living standards in East Germany increased rapidly. In the course of the
1970s, income expanded by a third, savings doubled, and retail trade rose
by 56 percent. Forty percent of all households had a car; 84 percent were
equipped with a washing machine; and 88 percent, with a television set.
Throughout the 1960s and 1970s, owing to the ability of the régime to
pursue its programme of economic development, many Western analysts
concluded that socialism really worked in the German Democratic
Republic. Yet, this perception did not take into account the impressive
number of East German citizens who, legally and illegally, desperately fled
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the country for the West, who served prison sentences, or who were
expelled because of their political convictions. Between October 1949,
when the German Democratic Republic was set up, and 1961, when the
Berlin Wall was erected, 2.69 million refugees moved to the West.
Furthermore, starting in 1961, through 1984, another 245,888 East
Germans left the country as legal emigrants and 176,714, as illegal
emigrants. Moreover, 177 were killed while attempting to cross the border,
and 17,000 or so served prison terms for attempting to leave or for related
political offenses.
Eventually, the economic changes occurring in the world economy in
the 1980s completely undermined the German Democratic Republic and
led to its eventual dissolution. Unable to keep pace with the expansion of
labour productivity, the outcome of the introduction of computer
technology into every aspect of production, the German Democratic
Republic fell far behind in international competition. Its world market
share of engineering exports fell from 3.9 percent in 1973 to 0.9 percent in
1986. The prospect of being able to finance credits and imported goods
through increased exports was shattered.
By the end of the 1980s, the conservatism of the Party leadership and
the repressive activities of the state increased, even further, the pressure
on East Germans to leave if they could. The police attacked informal clubs
and organizations and subjected their members to frequent interrogations
and imprisonment.
Understanding that the introduction of perestroika (restructuring) into
the German Democratic Republic would seal the fate of the régime, Erich
Honecker opposed it. Even certain Soviet publications, like the popular
Sputnik magazine, were banned.
By spring 1989, the political atmosphere in the German Democratic
Republic was characterized by generalized frustration. Despite the hopes
for reform nurtured by the churches and by society, the local elections of 7
May 1989 turned out to be yet another means for reinforcing the
mobilization strategy of the régime, with 98.85 percent of the vote going to
the National Front. The support given by the Party leadership to the
Chinese crackdown on students in Tiananmen Square enhanced the
general sense of despair and paralysis.
When on 2 May 1889 the first two-hundred yards of the Iron Curtain
were removed on the Hungarian-Austrian border, young East Germans
took advantage of the new opportunity the situation offered. They were
followed, in July and August, by thousands of other citizens of the German
Democratic Republic.
The situation deteriorated when East German tourists invaded the West
Germany Embassies in Prague, Budapest, and Warsaw, and the
Permanent Representation of Bonn in East Berlin demanding that they be
permitted to go on to the Federal Republic of Germany.
Eventually, starting on 10 September 1989, East German “tourists” in
Hungary were permitted, by the Hungarian government, to freely and
legally cross the Hungarian-Austrian border.
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Erich Honecker was deeply embarrassed by the widespread publicity of
the situation in the West German embassies, and on 1 October, he
personally authorized the exit of some 7,000 citizens of the German
Democratic Republic who had been in the West German Embassy in
Prague and in the West German Permanent Representation in East Berlin.
These actions, however, did not prevent thousands of other East Germans
from making use of visa-free travel to Czechoslovakia to make their way to
the West.
In the meantime, the gap between the Party and the people widened. On
10 September, a new political movement, named The New Forum, came
into being. Along with other opposition groups, including Democracy Now
and the United Left, its activists demanded a critical examination of the
path to socialism that had been taken by the country.
Wishing to celebrate the Fortieth Anniversary of the founding of the
German Democratic Republic of 7 October 1949 without the embarrassing
coverage by the international media of East Germans camping out in West
German embassies, Honecker authorized the transport to the West of
Germans from Warsaw and Prague. The news spread rapidly, and in their
attempt to flee the country, thousands of East Germans stormed the
stations through which the special train from Prague rolled on its way to
the West.
On 7 October 1989, in the midst of mass demonstrations, Gorbachev
arrived in the German Democratic Republic to take part in its Fortieth
Anniversary celebration. In his speech, he made clear that he would not
back Erich Honecker. His words, in turn, provoked a shift in the line of the
Party leadership so far as its backing of Honecker was concerned.
After a series of demonstrations that triggered riots and violent clashes
with the police throughout the first two weeks of October in Leipzig,
Dresden, East Berlin, and Magdeburg, under the pressure of the Forum,
Party leader Honecker was sacked by his own people in the Politburo, on
18 October 1889, and replaced by Egon Krenz, who tried to calm down the
demonstrations through public dialogue. Thousands participated in
political debates on public squares. But the demonstrations grew larger.
On 23 October, hundreds of thousands of people took to the streets in
Leipzig and urgently demanded democratic changes (legal status for the
democratic opposition and independent unions, distinct responsibilities for
the Party and the state, etc.).
On 4 November 1989, one of the largest demonstrations in German
history took place in East Berlin in support of freedom of speech, free
elections, the ending of the leading role of the Party, and the disbanding of
the secret police, STASI. On 7 November, the Politburo resigned and Hans
Modrow, known to be a Gorbachev supporter, was appointed Party leader.
On 9 November, the Berlin Wall, the very symbol of the Cold War, was
breached. Thousands of people climbed on it, and millions travelled on
visits to West Germany. After the borders had been opened and the
Stalinist diehards expelled from the Party, a Central Committee plenum
took place that reached the decision that the Party would organize free
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elections, secure freedom of association, the separation of the Party from
the state, parliamentary control over the secret police, and implement a
vibrant market economy and a more liberal press law.
What followed was a time of political effervescence. On 13 November,
the new Party leader, Hans Modrow, also became Prime Minister. On 20
November 1989, the first demonstrations for a reunited Germany took
place. On 3 December 1989, under the impact of revelations about the
luxury in which the nomenclatura lived, all the Poliburo members tendered
their resignations. Two weeks later, an extraordinary Party congress
changed the official name of the Party that would now be known as the
Party of Democratic Socialism (PDS), the new leader of which, Gregor Gysi,
was, paradoxically, a former defender of the New Forum.
Thus the fall of the Berlin Wall put an end not only to the communist
régime in the Eastern German lands, but also to an artificial state entity
that had come into existence only as a result of Cold War logic and of the
political split that had divided the European continent.
b. CZECHOSLOVAKIA
In contrast to the situations in Poland and Hungary, but similar to that in
the German Democratic Republic, in 1989, Czechoslovakia, had not
undergone gradual political liberalization or any economic reform. The
beginning of the end of communism was marked by the reconsideration of
the Prague Spring in the socialist camp and by the discarding of the
Brezhnev doctrine. Alexander Dubček’s public appearances (the interview
given in January 1988 to the Italian Communist newspaper, L’Unità, and
the radio and television interview shown on Hungarian National Television
in April 1989) triggered irritation in Prague, where the central authorities
attempted to portray him as a carpetbagger and a political renegade.
The growing awareness of economic stagnation and impending
ecological disaster, because of the planned Nagymaros-Gabcikovo Dam on
the Danube River, fuelled the opposition. Visible as early as January 1989,
during the memorial of the self-immolated Czech student, Jan Palach, the
radicalization of the opposition led to a petition written in June 1989
demanding democratization. Unlike the Polish and the Hungarian cases,
there was no reform group within the Czechoslovak Communist Party in a
position to start negotiations with the opposition.
On 17 November 1989, the government used violence to put an end to a
student demonstration, an action that gave rise to nationwide protests.
Two days later, on 19 November, Václav Havel laid the basis for the Civic
Forum which brought together twelve independent movements, among
which the Charter ’77 movement. Almost at the same time, a similar
movement, known as the Public Against Violence, came into being in
Slovakia.
On 23 November 1989, Alexander Dubček, the hero of 1968, returned
to Prague. On the following day, 300,000 people gathered to cheer for him
and for Václav Havel, who had addressed the crowds for the first time two
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279
days earlier. On 27 November, a general strike paralyzed the whole
country, while two days later, the Federal Assembly abrogated the
constitutional clause guaranteeing the leading role of the Party. On 1
December, the communist leadership officially denounced the Soviet
intervention of 1968, followed, two days later, on 3 December, by the
formation of a new government with five non-communist ministers and the
voluntary disarming of the Peoples’ Militia. Eventually, on 5 December, the
500,000 people expelled from the Party after the Prague Spring were
rehabilitated. A coalition government with a non-communist majority was
formed on 10 December. Hence, in order to secure control over all key
political and military levers of power, there was a growing emphasis on the
need to replace President Gustáv Husák with a non-communist president.
Confronted with the nationwide demand for Havel to accede to the office of
President, the communists reluctantly agreed to concede their last
remaining power lever. Consequently, on 29 December, Václav Havel was
elected President of the Republic, a day after Alexander Dubček was
nominated to the Federal Assembly and simultaneously sworn in as its
Chairman.
The somehow chaotic process of political change, with no direct sense,
on anyone’s part, of political strategy, its “gentle” character, as well as the
fact that the régime practically collapsed when confronted with the
pressure of the masses, makes the Czechoslovak case one of transition
through capitulation, popularly described, with a catchy term, as the
“Velvet Revolution”.
5. Transition through Coup d’Etat and Liberalization: The Case of Bulgaria
Throughout his thirty-five years in power, the strategy embraced by Todor
Zhivkov relied on such elements as an egalitarian wage structure, a
paternalistic attitude toward the intelligentsia, nationalism (assimilation of
the Turkish minority, opposition to the claim of Macedonians to be a
separate nation), and full loyalty and obedience to the Soviet Union.
However, by the end of the 1980s, a number of adverse factors were
contributing to the overall undermining of the legitimacy of the régime.
First, the disintegration of the traditional Eastern European and Soviet
markets of Bulgaria along with an increasing shortage of labour owing to a
rapid process of aging (second in intensity to similar processes in the
German Democratic Republic and in Hungary) plunged Bulgaria into a
severe economic crisis. Second, the attitude of Zhivkov’s régime toward the
Turkish minority bred serious discontent, not only in Bulgaria, but also
abroad, given that the Turks at that time made up 10 percent of the
population of the country. Initiated in 1956, the long-term policy of
gradual and uneven infringements of the cultural autonomy of the Turkish
minority had reached a new momentum throughout the second half of the
1980s. After launching, over the winter of 1984-1985, a forceful, and often
violent, mass renaming of the Turkish Muslim population with Slavic
Bulgarian names (accompanied by measures against Islamic traditions
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and the use of the Turkish language), the régime caused the out-migration
of about 300,000 ethnic Turks. Third, precisely because of its ethnic
policy, Bulgaria experienced increasing international isolation after 1985,
when perestroika only accelerated.
Completely faithful to the Kremlin, Zhivkov, after 1987, copied all the
forms of perestroika in order to preserve his power and to disarm the
reformist opposition within the Communist Party. Perestroika implied,
among other things, his giving up of the cult of personality both for himself
and for his family. A Politburo decision taken in August 1988 called for the
removal of Zhivkov’s portrait from public places and the destruction of his
statue in his native town of Pravets. At the same time, beginning in March
1989, cultural institutions named after his daughter, Ludmila Zhivkova,
reverted to their former names. The dictates of perestroika also called for
public statements about reforming the political system (like the statement
made during the December 1988 Central Committee Plenum).
The removal of reformist prime-minister, Georgi Atanasov, on 1
February 1989, seemed to confirm the success of Zhivkov’s strategy. But
the intensifying tensions between the Party establishment, the army and
security apparatus, along with the increasing number of new civic
organizations, also known by the apparently harmless designation of
discussion clubs, changed things altogether. One of the most active among
them was the Club for Glasnost and Democracy, which proved to be a
training ground for some of the new leaders of the Bulgarian transition.
On 3 November 1989, the Ecoglasnost opposition movement organized
its first demonstration. About half a million people came together in front
of the National Assembly in Sofia to protest pollution, questioning the
capacity of the Party to manage the national economy. Party reformers
secured army support and took advantage of the huge mass pressure to
oust Zhivkov on 10 November 1989. His successor, the former Minister of
Foreign Affairs, paved the way for a new reformist course in the Party. The
law forbidding unauthorized political activity was annulled, and control
over the masses, relaxed, actions which in their turn, only increased the
pressure from below. In Sofia and in other cities, there were increasing
numbers of street rallies in favour of a multiparty system. During the first
days of December 1989, opposition groups got together under an
umbrella-organization called the Union of Democratic Forces, the elected
president of the Coordination Committee of which was the philosopher,
Zheliu Zhelev. Expelled from the Party for his critical attitude during the
1960s, Zhelev had been one of the founders of the Club for Glasnost and
Democracy. The Union included many other Marxists whom Zhivkov had
excluded from the Party during his decades in power.
On 13 December 1989, following press reports of his abuses and
excesses, the Party Central Committee decided to expel Zhivkov from its
ranks as a token gesture intended to underline the break with the past. At
the same time, the Party issued an official announcement to the effect that
it was giving up its monopoly of power. When, however, the new
government and the Party Central Committee issued a second official
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281
statement on 29 December repudiating the anti-Turkish policies, there was
an instant and irritated reaction from nationalist forces which set up a
National Interest Defense Committee, specifically intended to prevent the
accession of Turkish minority representatives to Parliament.
After Zhivkov had been placed under house arrest in January 1990, the
Party Congress of 30 January–2 February 1990 appointed a new Party
leader, Alexander Lilov, who also became Chairman of the Supreme
Council (the equivalent of Secretary General of the Central Committee).
Former Party ideologist and close friend of Ludmila Zhivkova, Lilov had
“resigned” after her death in 1983 and had been removed from the Central
Committee, withdrawing also from the headship of the Institute for
Current Social Theories. Later, he re-entered the political scene as an
unconditional supporter and admirer of Mikhail Gorbachev. Under street
pressures – one of the many demonstrations that began to take place in
Nevski Cathedral Square as of November 1989 – the Supreme Council, led
by Lilov, decided to hold a referendum on changing the Party name to that
of Bulgarian Socialist Party (BSP). The “new party” aimed at giving up the
nomenclatura principle and at developing a democratic structure.
In the period prior to the 10 and 17 June 1990 elections for the Grand
National Assembly, the two major contenders, the recently renamed
Bulgarian Socialist Party (SP), and the Union of Democratic Forces (UDF) a coalition of sixteen political parties and organizations - came out with
what were almost identical programmes, despite the mutually excluding
rhetoric behind them. The electoral victory of the Socialist Party (52.75
percent of the vote, as compared to 36 percent for the UDF) hardly came as
a surprise in a country with egalitarian social traditions, in which
communist rule was not identified with a foreign power, and the
communist era was associated with rising living standards. Nevertheless,
owing to revelations that a member of the leadership of the Socialist Party,
the acting President, Petăr Mladenov, had proposed the use of tanks
against the demonstrators in December 1989, the latter was forced to
resign, being replaced in August 1990 by UDG leader, Zheliu Zhelev.
Eventually, a new constitution took effect on 13 July 1991, and Zhivkov
was convicted for corruption and abuse of power, in September 1992.
Thus, what started as a show run by the reformist wing of the former
Bulgarian Communist Party, which first initiated the exit from
communism with the help of a coup d’état, and then managed to secure
power in the democratic environment through elections, ended up in a sort
of ad hoc relative balance between the main political forces in which no
party or leader would be able to dictate.
6. Transition through Popular Uprising and Coup d’Etat: The Case of Romania
Historians and political analysts and scientists agree that both the collapse
of Nicolae Ceauşescu’s régime and the transition following this collapse
were a special case in the context of the 1989 Eastern European
revolutions. This observation is a fair one in that Romania was the only
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Eastern European country in which the end of the old régime and the
transition to the new society were marked by violence, while the change in
government (through the accession to power of the anti-communist
opposition) only occurred for the first time seven years after the December
1989 events.
Several sets of circumstances, however, mitigated against a Round
Table negotiated transition. The decisive element was the special kind of
communist political régime the country had had to contend with from 1965
to 1989.
At the Ninth Romanian Communist Party Congress (1965), when
Nicolae Ceauşescu actually came to power, Romania was in a position to
make a choice between two ways of building communism: the Yugoslav
way (de-Stalinization, political and ideological liberalization) and the
Albanian way (the strengthening of totalitarian control by the Communist
Party and its political police over society, the promotion of a nationalist
ideology which combined ethnocentrism with communist Orthodoxy).
Interestingly enough, Romania successively chose both ways. Thus it has
been almost commonplace to say that the so-called Ceauşescu epoch had
two distinct stages, the chronological turning point of which was the year
1971.
To be sure, between 1965 and 1971, however, Ceauşescu opted for a
brief interlude of controlled liberalization of Romanian society, aiming to
seize political credit for himself and to legitimate his own communist
régime. Certain elements characterized this short period: official, albeit
sham, references to the principles of collective leadership, the political
rehabilitation of certain victims of Stalinist oppression (April 1968),
opposition to Soviet integrationist plans promoted through the Mutual
Economic Aid Council (COMECON), a more reserved attitude toward
participation in Warsaw Pact actions, a limited autonomy for Romanian
foreign policy (i.e., the position of Romania during the 1967 Middle East
crisis, the neutral stance taken during the Chinese-Soviet conflict, etc.),
and a relative ideological relaxation. These stances culminated in the
Romanian public castigation of and refusal to take part in the intervention
of Warsaw Pact troops to suppress the Prague Spring, in what was believed
to be a direct challenge to the Soviet interpretation of socialist
internationalism. In addition to the degree of internal support, even from
an important segment of Romanian intellectuals (with a sudden increase
in Party membership), the attitude adopted in 1968 established
Ceauşescu’s foreign reputation (to a large extent undeserved) as a Trojan
horse inside the communist world. These actions gave rise to the myth of
Romanian exceptionalism which would nourish, for many years, the
benevolent attitude of Western leaders in regard to the Bucharest régime.
Having gotten rid of the ghosts of potential competitors by the time the
July theses were made public (Ioan Gheorghe Maurer, who was the prime
minister of Romania until 1974, posed no threat in this respect),
Ceauşescu started to consolidate his power, gradually introducing a
personal dictatorship that did not permit any opposition. In March 1974,
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283
when Ceauşescu had set up and at the same time had assumed the high
office of President of the Republic, which combined responsibilities
previously divided between the President of the State Council and the
Prime Minister, the coast was clear for his assumption of discretionary
powers. When almost simultaneously (still in 1974) Elena Ceauşescu, his
wife, became a member of the Executive Political Committee (the Politburo)
and was appointed Secretary for Organizational and Cadre Problems in the
Central Committee of the Romanian Communist Party, while at the same
time, other members of the Ceauşescu family were given important Party
and state offices, the basis was laid for a variant of dynastic socialism.
From that moment on, neither the Executive Political Committee, nor
the Party Central Committee, or the Grand National Assembly would be
able to question decisions made by a leader who had already become Party
ruler, Head of State and Government, and Supreme Commander of the
Army.
The high degree of merging of the private and the public spheres, the
extreme personalization of power, corruption, and the cliental character of
an institutional bureaucracy that was typical of the Ceauşescu régime
made certain analysts, such as Juan J. Linz and Alfred Stepan (1995),
define it as a sultanistic régime, in other words, as an extreme form of
what Max Weber called a “patrimonialist political régime”. Analogies
suggested by certain modern authors for Ceauşescu’s rule in Romania
include the régimes of Kim Il-sung and Kim Jong-il in North Korea, of
Rafael Leónidas Trujillo Molina in the Dominican Republic, of Jean-Claude
Duvalier in Haiti, of Fulgencio Batista in Cuba, the rule of the Somoza
family in Nicaragua, the latter stages of both Pahlavi rulers in Iran, the
presidency of Ferdinand Marcos in the Philippines after the latter’s
declaration of martial law in 1972, Manuel Noriega’s dictatorship in
Panama, as well as the personal dictatorships of Jean-Bédel Bokassa in
the Central African Republic, of Mobutu Sese Seko in Zaïre, of Francisco
Macías Nguema in Equatorial Guinea, and of Idi Amin Dada in Uganda.
From the point of view of economics, during the 1970s, while, in
neighbouring Hungary, János Kádár inaugurated a set of reforms meant to
improve the living standard of the population (so-called goulashcommunism), a personal and primitive interpretation of the Stalinist model
moved Ceauşescu to choose recentralization and a rapid and superinflated
development of heavy industry. The negative consequences of this
economic policy would be multiplied during the 1980s by the carrying out
of a series of inefficient, costly projects (the completion of the DanubeBlack Sea Canal, construction of the People’s House in Bucharest, the
systematization of rural areas, etc.), as well as by Ceauşescu’s ambition –
realized at the expense of the population – to pay off all foreign debts at a
time when Poland and Hungary, that were much more indebted than
Romania, were still resorting to foreign loans.
If externally Ceauşescu played the national-communist card, he used
the scapegoat technique in his relationships with ethnic minorities, thus
turning his régime into one that was heavily xenophobic. So far as
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propaganda was concerned, in his unhealthy need for popular support and
legitimacy, he adopted the Asian model, giving a narcissistic direction to
his cult of personality.
At the same time, under the constant pressure of the Party and the
Securitate (secret police), Romanian society underwent a powerful process
of atomization. The total lack of dialogue between the authorities and
society, on the one hand, and the impossibility of having any real cores of
civil society, on the other (except for a few isolated voices), resulted in an
incapacity to articulate a genuine anti-communist resistance during the
1970s and the 1980s. While the Central European countries underwent a
resurrection of powerful alternative groups able to form a national
opposition structure before a transfer of power actually took place, the
fragile and reduced Romanian intellectual dissidence was either forced to
emigrate (Paul Goma, Vlad Georgescu, Dorin Tudoran, Mihai Botez, etc.),
or was temporarily silenced (if not irrevocably, as in the case of engineer
Gheorghe Ursu), or even put under strict Securitate surveillance (Radu
Filipescu, Mircea Dinescu, Dan Petrescu, Ana Blandiana, Dan Deşliu,
Gabriel Andreescu, etc.).
Mass opposition to and actions against the communist régime were not
altogether absent. It included the Jiu Valley (summer of 1977) and Motru
Valley (October 1981) miners’ strikes and in particular the popular
demonstration in Braşov (15 November 1987), perceived as a prelude to
the December 1989 Revolution. But all attempts to develop an
independent Solidarity-like union movement, such as the 1979 Free
Romanian Worker’s Union (SLOMR), ultimately failed.
Since the higher echelons of power were manned with obedient people
who lacked personality and owed their careers to the dictator and to his
wife, there was no room for any burgeoning of a reforming faction inside
the Romanian nomenclatura, as had already occurred in Hungary, Poland,
and Czechoslovakia. The anti-Ceauşescu putsch, that was supposed to
take place during a visit of the presidential couple to West Germany in
1984, was easily thwarted following the death of one of its main
supporters, former Defense minister Ion Ioniţă. Likewise, the very-late-toappear “Letter of the Six” (signed by Constantin Pîrvulescu, Alexandru
Bîrlădeanu, Gheorghe Apostol, Corneliu Mănescu, Grigore Răceanu, and
Silviu Brucan), written in March 1989, was hardly the expression of any
genuine internal opposition on the part of Party hard-liners. What it
actually reflected was the helplessness of a certain segment of Ceauşescu’s
nomenclatura, as well as the frustrations of certain old Stalinist Party
hacks (the youngest of whom was older than Ceauşescu, while the oldest
was 94) whom the dictator had been side-tracking for many years.
Perestroika provided a new opportunity for a coup against Ceauşescu.
In keeping with support offered by the Kremlin, a trip that Silviu Brucan
made to Moscow in November 1988, after a lecture tour in the United
Kingdom and the United States and before getting back to Romania, takes
on special significance. At this time, a secret meeting took place between
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285
Brucan and Gorbachev at which several matters were discussed, including
the removal of Ceauşescu.
The total isolation of Ceauşescu’s régime, even among the Warsaw Pact
countries, became even more obvious when the United Nations Human
Rights Committee set up a special commission to investigate the situation
in Romania (9 March 1989). For the first time, the Soviet Union failed to
vote in support of a Warsaw Pact member, namely Romania. At that same
time (March 1989) there were other provocations directed at the régime
that were intensively covered by international media: Liviu Babeş’s
protests and self-immolation on the Poiana-Braşov ski track, the letter of
the six, and the interview of the poet, Mircea Dinescu, with the French
newspaper, Libération.
The irreversible cooling of the Soviet-Romanian relationship was
confirmed during the Fourteenth Romanian Communist Party Congress
when, to the surprise of the audience, Ceauşescu denounced the
Ribbentrop-Molotov Pact of 1939 and called for the “liquidation” of its stillin-place consequences. Later, during the final Ceauşescu-Gorbachev
summit in Moscow (4 December 1989), the Kremlin leader was reluctant to
endorse the idea of organizing a conference of all communist and workers’
parties and criticized the long delay in the modernization processes in
certain socialist countries.
Scheduled to take place on Ceauşescu’s very birthday (26 January
1990), the planned putsch was overtaken by the start of the popular
uprising in Timişoara (16 December 1989) which had been sparked by
advance disclosure of the impending arrest of the agitator, Pastor László
Tökés. Consequently, security forces opened fire on anti-government
demonstrators, and Ceauşescu declared a state of emergency as protests
spread to other cities. After their shock waves had reached Bucharest (21–
22 December 1989), the main authors of the coup added their actions
against Ceauşescu to the flow of revolutionary activities. After army units
joined the rebellion on 22 December 1989, fierce fighting took place
between the army and forces loyal to Ceauşescu. Deriving its inspiration
from the Committee of Public Safety of the French Revolution, and very
keen to establish ad-hoc legitimacy, the new power structure raised on the
ruins of Ceauşescu’s régime derived its name from that of a group that had
been active for six months (and was known to have issued manifestos)
when the revolution started: the Council of the National Salvation Front
(FSN). Eventually, Ceauşescu and his wife, who had fled from Bucharest
by helicopter, were captured, and following an ad hoc trial in which they
were found guilty of genocide, were executed on Christmas Day, 1989.
One thing is certain in regard to the still obscure turn of events in
December 1989: Romania lacked any basic conditions for a negotiated
transition. And since the alternative to negotiations and compromises have
always been and always will be sheer violence (which in its turn is nothing
but an instrument for a so-called confrontational policy), a degree of
violence was the overall background of political change in Romania.
Against this background one should place the events that took place before
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and after 22 December 1989 (when Ceauşescu, trying to avoid the
“movement of rage” against him, hurriedly left Bucharest), on 28–29
January 1990, and on 18–19 February 1990 (when violent clashes
occurred between the National Salvation Front (FSN) and opposition
supporters), on 19–21 March 1990 (the inter-ethnic violence in Târgu
Mureş), and on 13–15 June 1990 (the police showdown at University
Square in Bucharest, immediately followed by the first violent action of the
miners - and, arguably, disguised former Securitate agents - against
members of the opposition in Bucharest), as well as the September 1991
events (the second arrival of the miners in Bucharest, with the immediate
result being the fall of the pro-reform Petre Roman government).
Another important feature that gave the Romanian transition a certain
specificity was the fact that the opposition, that had an important role to
play in the post-December 1989 political arena, was not born during the
last phase of the communist régime, as in Hungary and in Poland, but
came together during the days of the revolution around the survivors of
parties disbanded by the communists: the National Christian Democratic
Peasant Party (the former National Peasant Party), the National Liberal
Party, and the Social Democratic Party - or activists of new political
movements with ecological and ethnic outlooks - the Ecological Movement
Party, and the Hungarian Democratic Union of Romania, respectively. Yet,
the representatives of the “historical” parties shared power with the
National Salvation Front from the formation of a provisional parliament in
late February 1990, until the 20 May 1990 elections, which resulted in a
landslide victory for President Ion Iliescu (85 percent of the vote) and a
considerable parliamentary majority (two-thirds of the seats) for the Front.
Eventually, a new constitution providing for a multiparty system took
effect on 8 December 1991.
Having the aspect of a putsch pushed along by the spontaneous
manifestations of popular dissatisfaction, the December 1989 Romanian
events can be defined as the combination of a revolution and a coup d’état.
However, a paradox is noticeable: Even though in Romania the
Communist Party was disbanded by decree, the régime that emerged after
the December 1989 events proved to be the most acceptable of the
successor régimes, from the point of view of the Kremlin.
Lacking the possibility of a genuine power transfer in December 1989,
because there were no grounds for a negotiated transition, Romania only
carried out this transfer seven years later through elections (November
1996), when the former communists were swept from power, under
radically different internal and international conditions, in keeping with
the political maturation of Romanian society.
7. Transition through Liberalization and Collapse: The Case of Albania
Albania was the last of the red dominos in Central and Eastern Europe to
fall. Various circumstances that had marked the evolution of the Albanian
state throughout its existence led to this historical gap in regard to the
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287
other Central and Eastern European countries that had also lived through
the totalitarian experience.
From its very emergence as an independent state (28 November 1912),
Albania was a political entity in continuous crisis. With the exception of
the short-lived experiment with a parliamentary system in the early 1920s,
Albania never experienced a genuinely democratic régime. Moreover, its
existence has always depended to a large extent upon the changing
attitudes of its neighbours (Greece, Italy, Serbia, and Montenegro)), a
feature that has left a heavy imprint upon its political setting.
Established on 8 November 1941, the Albanian Communist Party was
the creation of two Serbian envoys sent by Josip Broz Tito. They remained
in Albania throughout the war and acted as true Party leaders, one in the
political context (Milidin Popović), the other in the military context (Duśan
Mugośa). Even after the Albanian Communist Party had taken power (and
had changed its official name, in 1944, to the Albanian Workers’ Party),
Titoist patronage continued to be very strong. Under the surveillance of
one of the envoys who was selected to join the Central Committee, the
Albanian authorities agreed to the co-ordination of the economic
programmes of the two countries. A customs union was established, the
Albanian army was reorganized by a Yugoslav military mission, and SerboCroatian became the compulsory languge taught in Albanian schools.
These steps, the ultimate purpose of which was to turn Albania into the
seventh republic of the Yugoslav Federation, determined the Albanian
break with Tito in 1948. Nikita Khrushchev’s later attempt to mediate the
restoration of the Soviet-Yugoslav relationship only resulted in another
break-up, this time between Tirana and Moscow (10 December 1961),
while the development of the (communist) Chinese-American relationship
determined a cooling between Albania and China (1978). By the end of the
1970s, Albania found itself in almost total diplomatic, political, and
economic isolation.
Internally, Enver Hoxha’s communist régime proved to be highly
conservative and repressive. Its efficiency relied on the overwhelming
strength and omnipresence of the secret police (Sigurimi), the linking of any
social or career promotion to absolute loyalty to the state-party, a strong
cult of personality surrounding the supreme leader, and political
consistency in regard to ridding the higher echelons of troublemakers and
intruders (Koçi Xoxe, 1949; Mehmet Shehu, 1981).
In an attempt to pull Albania out of its deep systemic crisis, Hoxha’s
appointed successor, Ramiz Alia (Party First Secretary as of 1 April 1985)
began a Gorbachev–inspired reform and restructuring programme.
Although under his leadership Albania experienced a breakdown of some
of the many ideological taboos inherited from Hoxha, its economy
continued to be undermined by systemic adverse factors such as overcentralization, perverse incentives, waste of resources, distorted prices,
endemic corruption, and widespread shortages of basic goods.
Consequently, the Albanian standard of living, already the lowest in
Europe, fell further. Moreover, the régime continued to pursue its violation
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of basic human rights as well as its traditional isolation. While restrictions
on foreign travel for Albanians and for foreigners visiting Albania were kept
high, political and economic interactions with “the outside world” were
kept low. Each of the reforms Ramiz Alia carried out gave rise to even
stronger pressures for a more determined liberalization and restructuring
of the system.
Eventually, the failure of the APL leadership to implement badly needed
daring economic and political reforms, along with the impact of the
Eastern European revolutions and the emergence of non-communist
political formations in the predominantly Albanian-inhabited province of
Kosovo, in neighbouring Yugoslavia, triggered off the final collapse of the
communist régime in Albania. Albanians avidly followed the Eastern
European revolutionary events as they unfolded by tuning in to foreign
radio broadcasts. But no event in the region had a greater impact on both
the Albanian establishment and population than the revolution in
Romania. The widely perceived similarities between the Romanian and
Albanian communist régimes led the latter to openly attack the former
dictator and to quickly recognize the new post-revolutionary Romanian
government in a last-ditch effort to distance itself from any identification
with the Ceauşescu régime.
Following the events in Romania, the Albanian communist leadership
came under increased foreign and domestic pressures to make additional
changes. Furthermore, the ethnically-driven developments in the Kosovo
Autonomous Region in Yugoslavia had a direct impact upon the political
circumstances in Albania. Confronted by the systematic infringements of
its cultural autonomy in Kosovo by the Slobodan Milošević régime, the
Albanian majority organized itself around several non-communist political
parties, which, besides advocating full-blown autonomy and a republican
status for Kosovo, asked for a multiparty system and a free market
economy, thus setting the political agenda for similar developments in
Albania.
The Central Committee meeting in January 1990 attempted to halt
such developments by shrewdly linking the theme of the APL monopoly of
power with that of preserving the independence and stability of the
country. However, in order to release some of the societal tension, it
announced a wary programme of reforms, which meant, among other
things, a greater say for local authorities and enterprises in decisionmaking processes, a better correlation between wages and production, the
introduction of alternative candidates in the elections for Party cadres, and
limits on their terms in office. Further political changes intended to
improve the human rights record of the régime were announced on the
occasion of the Tenth Plenum of the Central Committee, in April 1990.
Albanians were granted the right to travel abroad; the ban on religious
activity was lifted, the death penalty for defectors was abolished; and
lawyers for the defense in court and in the Ministry of Justice were
reintroduced.
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289
A striking break with the past, at least so far as the traditional
isolationist policy of Albania was concerned, occurred when, in the spring
of 1990, the régime expressed its desire to normalize its relations with
Washington and with Moscow, to be admitted as a full member of the
CSCE, and to promote foreign investment in Albania. But none of these
concessions, nor the ones announced later at a meeting with intellectuals
in August - an increased role for elected bodies, including the People’s
Assembly, the separation of Party and state, the loosening of communist
control over mass organizations, and the improvement of the appointment
mechanism for cadres - were sufficient to satisfy the prominent
intellectuals of the country, including the writer, Ismail Kadare, the
cardiologist, Sali Berisha, the scientist, Ylli Popa, the economist, Gamoz
Pashko, and such writers and journalists as Neshat Tozaj and Besnik
Mustafaj, who intensified their push for far-reaching changes.
On 4 July 1990, the increasing pressures for radical change found a
new expression when an impressive number of Albanian citizens invaded
the main Western embassies in Tirana and, eventually, emigrated. The
incident was highly indicative of the growing gap separating the Party
bureaucrats from the population. As Ramiz Alia wanted to preserve the
leading role of the Party in the liberalization process, he attempted to get
rid of some of the members of the conservative faction of the Politburo,
including the Minister of the Interior, Simon Stefani. But in late October,
1990, at a moment when the foreign ministers of the Balkan countries
were gathered in Tirana, his image as a reformer was dealt a heavy blow
when writer Ismail Kadare announced that he was requesting political
asylum in France, as an expression of deep disenchantment with the slow
pace of change of the régime.
The first days of December 1990 witnessed the first major student rally
in Tirana against the government. Apparently generated by the
deteriorating economic situation, the demonstrations soon embraced
political demands. Although certain voices in the political establishment
pleaded for a “Chinese solution” (alluding to the Tiananmen Square
episode), Alia chose to compromise with the student representatives. This
action laid the basis for the setting up of the first opposition party, namely
the Democratic Party. In the next four months, other parties were set up,
including the Republican Ecological, Agrarian, National Unity, and Social
Democratic parties, as well as the Independent Trade Union. The
surrender by the APL of its monopoly of power instantly ignited anticommunist demonstrations in several major Albanian cities, a situation
leading to violent clashes with the police and with army troops. As a result
of the heightened sense of insecurity, some fifteen thousand Albanians
took refuge in Greece.
In a desperate attempt to arrest its sharp decline in popularity, the APL
leadership attempted to distance itself from its Stalinist legacy, removing
Nexhmije Hoxha, Enver Hoxha’s wife, from her position as Head of the
Democratic Front, and announcing, at an extraordinary national Party
conference in late December 1990, daring economic reforms targeting the
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introduction of market mechanisms. Yet the APL came under increasing
pressure from more radical elements, reluctant to accept any end result
short of the total repudiation of communism. When, on 20 February 1990,
the student demand to remove the name of Enver Hoxha from the
University of Tirana was met by a refusal on the part of the government,
more than 100,000 people gathered in the central square of Tirana and
tore down the dictator’s statue. If Alia’s response was the setting up of a
new government led by economist Fatos Nano and of a presidential council
that assumed control of the country, the response of the communist
fundamentalists was the formation of a Union of Volunteers for Enver
Hoxha that organized massive pro-Hoxha gatherings. It assailed
Democratic Party supporters and restored the former communist leader’s
statues in several places. As a consequence of increased political tension,
another wave of some twenty thousand Albanian refugees fled to Italy.
Using a set of tactics closely resembling those of the National Salvation
Front (FSN) in Romania (and taking advantage of the very a short period
allowed to the opposition to organize itself, the ability to take advantage of
general confusion and lack of information, a monopoly of the media, and
efforts to intimidate the opposition), Ramiz Alia’s party won a comfortable
two-thirds majority in the new Albanian Parliament in the first free
elections in the history of modern Albania, which took place on 31 March
1991. The Parliament electing Alia President for a five-year term, he
resigned as the APL First Secretary and as a member of its Central
Committee. Fatos Nano was confirmed as the Prime Minister of Albania.
Again, in a way similar to what had happened in Romania, elections were
immediately followed by acts of violence, when, on 2 April 1991, Sigurimi
agents killed four opposition leaders in Shkodër and wounded fifty-eight
other people when Democratic Party supporters protested alleged voting
fraud by the APL. On 4 June 1991, when a new “national salvation”
government was formed, Albania plunged into a new period of political and
economic instability. Eventually, amidst economic collapse and social
unrest, the former communists were routed in the March 1992 elections.
Sali Berisha was elected to be the first non-communist president since the
Second World War. Later, public protest over the breakdown of popular
pyramidal investment schemes in January 1997 led to a dramatic
economic and political crisis, armed rebellion and anarchy, and the near
collapse of the Albanian state.
8. Transition through Liberalization and Implosion: The Cases of the Union of
Soviet Socialist Republics and of Yugoslavia
a. THE UNION OF SOVIET SOCIALIST REPUBLICS
When Mikhail Gorbachev came to power in March 1985, the Soviet state
was already in a seriously weakened condition. The Soviet Union had
experienced not only years of political and economic stagnation but also an
annoying absence of able and stable leadership in the first half of the
BREAKDOWN OF TOTALITARIAN RÉGIMES
291
1980s. Weakness at the center had enabled the local ethnic and regional
mafias within the regional state-party apparatus in the periphery to
enhance their power. Furthermore, the Soviet Union was internationally
isolated, over-involved in a draining war in Afghanistan, and facing a
renewed tough stance on the part of the United States.
An analysis of the developments that triggered the utter collapse of the
Soviet Union between March 1985 and December 1991 should take two
theoretical distinctions into account: the Orwellian distinction between the
“inner party”, i.e., the Soviet élite (the Politburo, the Central Committee,
the KGB, the army, the state apparatus, and the leaders of the militaryindustrial complex), and the “outer party” (advisers, reporters, consultants,
speech writers, and social science experts), and an analogous distinction
between the “inner empire” (republics belonging to the Soviet Union) and
the “outer empire” (the Soviet Bloc countries).
Future perestroika experts were formed in the “outer party”. During
Gorbachev’s period, they gradually penetrated the “inner party”.
The first stage of Gorbachev’s rule, the so-called speeding-up period
(March 1985–1987), could be defined as a rejection of Brezhnevism
through hopes for a rejuvenation of the system after a return to allegedly
primary Bolshevik values, to the tolerant pluralism of the New Economic
Policy (NEP), and to de-Stalinization.
Following the modest campaigns against alcoholism and for greater
labour discipline and productivity, Gorbachev decided, in February 1986,
on the occasion of the Twenty-Seventh Congress of the Soviet Union
Communist Party, to attack “the administrative command system”.
The perestroika (restructuring) and glasnost (openness) policy was born
out of a correct understanding of the need to involve the masses in the
processes of change and of the simple truth that a successful economic
reform would first require political reforms. Its prerequisites could be
recognized even before Gorbachev’s ascension to power in the perestroika
avant la lettre project submitted by Lavrenti Beria, immediately after
Stalin’s death (March 1953), the reform suggested by Nikolai Rizhkov
(June 1983), when he was the head of the Party economics department
and Vice-President of GOSPLAN, and the “artistic freedom” mentioned by
the Soviet leader, Konstantin Chernenko, during a speech given in 1984
on the occasion of the fiftieth anniversary of the first Writers’ Union
Congress.
Eclectic, the new thinking kept on being restricted to a social
engineering project. For instance, the “Perestroika” Club founded in 1987
under the authority of the Mathematical Economics Institute, protected by
the District Party Committee, and guided from the side by the KGB, aimed
at “elaborating social and political techniques for the non-violent solution
of social conflicts”.
Becoming increasingly numerous, perestroika support organizations
underwent a first split in February 1987 between experts who favoured the
strict circumscription of their actions to the institutional framework (the
so-called governmentals) and other experts who wanted to go beyond this
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framework. One of the expressions of these new theoretical efforts was the
oxymoronic phrase, “socialist state of law”, first used in an academic
small-circulation magazine, Soviet Law and State (September 1987).
At the same time, the nationalities issue, that had been neglected by
Gorbachev during his first two presidential years, came to hold an
increasingly important place in the Soviet political agenda.
Since the summer of 1987, the “inner empire” had begun to show signs
of restlessness. After demonstrations in Moscow, the representatives of the
Crimean Tartars were received at the Kremlin to present their requests
(July 1987), the Baltic States demanded the denunciation of the
Ribbentrop-Molotov Pact of 1939 (23 August 1987), an ethnically-oriented
cultural club was founded in Kiev (September 1987), and victims of
Stalinist terror were commemorated in Minsk (November 1987). But the
first ethnically-driven mass protest that could not be contained within
Gorbachev’s limited vision, and the first major crisis that precipitated the
disentanglement of central Soviet authority came, starting in February
1998, from Nagorno-Karabagh, an Armenian enclave in the Republic of
Azerbaijan. The Armenian-Azerbaijani conflict over the Karabagh was a
clear symptom of the deficiencies of the Soviet constitutional order and the
mounting need for the use of armed force to maintain the federation - a
tendency that would be fully confirmed on the occasion of the ethnic strife
in Baku, in January 1990.
Beginning in the summer of 1988, national movements known as
popular fronts began to develop in the main union republics. In the Baltic
republics, the initiative for their creation was taken by writers, but their
expansion was encouraged by the local communist parties. There were
situations (in the Ukraine, for instance) in which the KGB seemed to have
had a finger in the processes whereby these movements were born and
evolved. On 11–12 June 1988, representatives of six non-Russian national
movements (Ukraine, Lithuania, Estonia, Latvia, Armenia, and Georgia) set
up a Coordination Committee for USSR Peoples’ Patriotic Movements.
In the meantime, the glasnost wave came to affect official history. The
Memorial Group, founded at the start of 1988 with discreet KGB support
and intended to reveal the horrors of Stalinist times, had to focus,
according to Gorbachev’s logic, on three questions: i) defusing the “delayed
bombs” of the past; ii) channelling all the passions aroused by Stalinist
disclosures toward an anti-Stalinist and anti-nomenclatura kind of ethos;
iii) elaboration of a fresh basis for rapprochement between the Russian
people and the other USSR peoples, given their common sufferings during
Stalinism.
The turning point came with the decision taken at the Nineteenth Party
Conference (July 1988) for a transition to a presidential régime and a
return to the Leninist formula of the Soviet Congress of People’s Deputies.
The multi-candidate national, and later, local elections, spelled the death
of the monopoly held by the Communist Party on political power. The
December 1988 electoral campaign and the semi-competitive elections of
26 March 1990 for the Soviet Congress of People’s Deputies gave the final
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293
touch to this process. Among other things, the Spring 1989 elections gave
Boris Yeltsin the chance to resurrect his political career, shattered after he
had been sacked by Gorbachev from the post of First Secretary of the
Moscow Communist Party in 1987. Calling the Party leadership corrupt
and promising to roll back the privileges of the Party ruling élite, Yeltsin
conducted a populist, anti-establishment campaign that made him the
focal point of the anti-Soviet opposition in 1989. But winning only a small
number of seats in the new Soviet parliament, Yeltsin and his new allies
from the so-called informal movement focused instead on the upcoming
elections for the Russian Congress of People’s Deputies and the city
councils throughout Russia. Yeltsin’s strategy was to seize control of
political institutions from below as a means to undermine Gorbachev’s
power from above. This strategy proved to be a winning one, and anticommunist forces took over almost a third of the seats in the Russian
Congress in the 1990 elections. With additional votes from Russian
nationalists, Yeltsin then won his election as Chairman of the legislative
body. Eventually, it was the Russian Congress, along with the Moscow City
Council - institutions never before prominent in Soviet politics - that would
erode the legitimacy and authority of Kremlin power.
In February 1990, under the pressure of revolutionary developments in
the “outer empire”, one of the fundamental Leninist dogmas – the leading
role of the Party – was discarded. This step, in turn, determined three
critical processes.
First, the disappearance of the vertical structure that had supported the
Soviet order brought about an atomization of authority at the lower levels
(republics, regions, cities and towns, districts, villages, enterprises,
kolkhozes). From this perspective, the 1989–1990 independence and
sovereignty statements made by the union republics only represented a
specific case in this higher scope phenomenon.
Second, the Yeltsin-Gorbachev competition for the redefinition of the
center of power began. While Yeltsin called on the Russian people to
consider the Russian Congress, rather than the Soviet Congress, the
highest political organ in the land, and following the Leninist pattern, tried
to turn Russia into the new center of a Union set up, this time, “from
bottom to top” through bilateral treaties between the Russian Republic and
other Union republics, Gorbachev stubbornly clung to the old idea of a
center represented by the Kremlin. Consequently, a protracted struggle for
sovereignty between the Soviet state and the Russian government ensued,
and Russia once again experienced dual power as just before the start of
its Soviet history.
Third, the rush for inheriting the Communist Party assets started. As of
the spring of 1990, Party funds were transferred into Western banks. Party
villas were sold at preferential rates to apparatchiks (following an October
1990 Politburo decision), and there was a general self-liberation process
among nomenclatura members who rushed to start their own businesses.
In the meantime, mass nationalist outbursts had occurred, first in
Transcaucasia and soon after in the Baltic republics. In November 1988,
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Estonia declared itself a sovereign republic. A few other declarations of
sovereignty and the establishment of official languages in the republics
followed in 1988-1989. But it was the year, 1990, that witnessed a series
of declarations of both sovereignty and independence, starting with the
Lithuanian declaration of independence in March. In the summer of 1990,
in one of their first acts as the newly elected representatives of the Russian
people, the Russian Congress declared Russia an independent state. By
the end of 1990, all the union republics and most of the autonomous
republics had reacted to the rapid weakening of the central state and to
the examples set by the former Eastern European satellites, declaring
themselves sovereign, in some cases, independent states.
Gorbachev’s authoritarian response to the radicalization of this
centrifugal tendency in the inner empire (the brutal intervention in Vilnius
on 12–13 January 1991, as well as the mobilization of the KGB and the
Ministry of the Interior against “delinquency” and “economic sabotage” at
the end of the same month), together with the scandal of the guided
missiles delivered by the Soviet Union to the El Salvador rebels (March
1991), seriously damaged the international image of the Soviet régime. At
the same time, the unpopular Stalinist measures taken by the Government
only consolidated the impression that Gorbachev was unable to take a firm
stance in the clash between the Party and the KGB old guard and the
“democrats”. To be sure, by the time of the March 1991 referendum on the
question of establishing a union of sovereign republics (the outcome
indicating considerable support for this idea), a stalemate had already
been reached between the left, the right, and the center represented by
Gorbachev. But in June 1991, taking advantage of the new opportunity
sanctioned by the March referendum to introduce the elective office of
President of Russia, Yeltsin won a landslide victory to become the first
elected president of Russia, a result that returned momentum to the anticommunist forces.
The immediate reflection of the political cleavage was the attempted
August 1991 putsch. Viewing the scheduled 20 August 1991 signing of a
new Union Treaty as the first step toward the total disintegration of the
Soviet Union, the conservative forces, in a pre-emptive power-seizing move,
reunited in the so-called State Committee for the State of Emergency,
announced on 19 August that it had assumed responsibility for governing
the country.
The attempt was a new proof of the close link between Party and state
in the Soviet system, indicating that the elimination of the Party as the
single actor in the political arena would quickly result in the dissolution of
the type of state upon which it had relied.
After the coup, the course of events moved forward rapidly. On 22
August, the statue of the founder of the Soviet secret police, Felix
Dzerzhinsky, was demolished. The next day, Boris Yeltsin outlawed the
Communist Party in Russia. One day later, Mikhail Gorbachev resigned
from his office of Secretary-General of the Communist Party of the Soviet
Union, while on 27 August, he declared that he would also give up his
BREAKDOWN OF TOTALITARIAN RÉGIMES
295
presidential office if the Soviet Union ceased to exist. On 5 September, the
Congress of the Soviet Union was disbanded, and on 8 December 1991,
the presidents of the three Slav republics - Yeltsin, Kravchuk, and
Shushkevich - met in Belarus and officially announced that the Union of
Soviet Socialist Republics had ceased to exist and that a Commonwealth
had been set up by the three republics that other states were invited to
join. Once the Central Asian republics, Armenia, Azerbaijan, and Moldova
had agreed to join the Commonwealth, Mikhail Gorbachev officially
resigned, on 25 December 1991, as president of the already defunct
seventy-four-year-old federal entity.
If one pictures the former Soviet Union as a federation with basically
two layers of Federal bodies: one comprising fifteen republics, and the
other encompassing within Russia another sixteen autonomous republics,
one could conclude, in retrospect, that what collapsed in 1991 was only
the first layer. Whilst all the former first layer Federal bodies became
independent (leaving aside the case of Belarus that voluntarily agreed to
eventually surrender its initial nominally independent status), a second
layer of Federal bodies are still in the process of struggling to gain
independence. As a result, as in the case of former Yugoslavia, ethnically
motivated strife has continued, as an ongoing process, following the
collapse of communism.
What started as a revolution from above, ended up as a series of
nationalist revolutions from below. The development of civil society and
restless nations within the Soviet Union unavoidably transformed
Gorbachev’s efforts at state-building into an intended process of statedismantling and, indeed, of imperial collapse.
b. YUGOSLAVIA
A country with approximately 24 million inhabitants, twenty-four ethnic
groups of which eight were dominant, three major religions (ChristianOrthodox, Roman-Catholic, and Muslim), two alphabets (Latin and
Cyrillic), divided into six republics (Serbia, Croatia, Slovenia, Bosnia and
Herzegovina, Macedonia, and Montenegro)) and two autonomous regions
(Voivodina and Kosovo attached to Serbia) - this conglomerate was the
communist Yugoslav state.
Under Josip Broz Tito, the nationalities issue generated a number of
disputes regarding the structure and the composition of the Yugoslav
Federation. Tito’s increasing orientation toward centralism, obvious since
1944, and the revival of the inter-war Yugoslav ideology and practice that
emphasized the blending together of the South Slavic nationalities into a
single Yugoslav supernational entity, brought him into conflict with the
regional Croat and Macedonian communist leaders. After several
hesitations, realizing that his federal system was threatened by Serbian
hegemony, Tito, a Croat, sided with the reforming faction within the Party
so far as the nationalities issue was concerned. The new course adopted by
Tito in this domain during the 1960s and 1970s implied a return to ideas
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previously broached in the 1940s: a rotating presidency for both state and
Party, time limits for office-holding, and formal harmonization, through
legislation, of the interests of the federal units. Decentralization was
sanctioned under the 1974 Constitution, which increased the autonomy of
the republics and the autonomous regions, thus encouraging a
considerable bureaucratic expansion at regional level. Intended equally to
reassert national equality and to impose Party control over developing
national movements, the 1974 Constitution did not solve the latent tension
between the Serbs and the other nationalities. For the former, Yugoslavia
was a partitioned country, lacking a legitimate center. For the non-Serbian
nationalities, it relied on the old-time pretence that the Serbs, Croats, and
Slovenes constituted a single Yugoslav people as well as on excessive
centralism.
Tito’s death in 1980 rekindled nationalist passions. Well-publicized
cases of nationalist provocations involving both Albanians and Serbs in
Kosovo took place in 1982 and 1985. The issue of Kosovo elicited a
response by the Serbian élite that was synthesized in the 1986
“Memorandum of the Serbian Academy of Sciences”. The central idea of
the document was that, because of the political and economic
discrimination to which Serbs had been subjected within Yugoslavia,
Serbia – and the Serb people as a nation – had the right to determine their
own national interests. Soon enough, after May 1986, when the
Communist Party of Serbia came to be run by Slobodan Milošević, this
stance was to become the programme of the Serbian communists.
Milošević’s political ascension was closely linked to the nationalistpopulist instrumentalization of the Kosovo issue. To better understand the
emotional involvement of the Serbs, one should remember that the Battle
of Kosovo of 1389, by which a Christian coalition attempted to halt the
advance of the Ottoman Turks, had led to the ending of the powerful
Serbian Kingdom of the Fourteenth Century. Inhabited by approximately
1.7 million Albanians, this very heart of the Serbian medieval state was
viewed as a sort of Serbian Palestine in the eyes and souls of Serbian
nationalists.
One of Milošević's first manifestations of a positive attitude toward
Kosovo Serbs and Montenegrins occurred on the night of 24 to 25 April
1987. He delivered an inflammatory speech to a huge number of Serbs and
Montenegrins who had gathered on the site of the legendary battle.
Occurring in the background of an earlier incident involving the
predominantly Albanian police force of Kosovo, the event marked the
beginning of a policy favouring the Serbian and Montenegrin ethnic
minorities in the province. This policy led to military occupation, police
reprisals, and Party cleansing.
By rejuvenating the old nationalist myths of Serbia and also the dream
of a Greater Serbia that would include most of Yugoslavia, Milošević
changed the Yugoslav League of Communists (Communist Party) into the
instrument of a pan-Serbian nationalist movement.
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Taking full advantage of Serbian nationalist feelings, Milošević
succeeded in ending the autonomist leadership in Voivodina (October
1988) and the Titoist leadership in Montenegro) (January 1989). Antiautonomist attacks continued in March 1989, when the direct authority of
the Republic of Serbia was extended to both Kosovo and Voivodina and
also, in July 1989, when Milošević disbanded the Kosovo regional
Parliament, most of the Albanian press, and the Priština Television
broadcasts. In the meantime, in May 1989, Milošević became the President
of Serbia.
Milošević’s attempts to destabilize Yugoslavia were not opposed by the
Federal government, the army (one of the fundamental pillars of the Titoist
order), or the Party. Only Slovenian and Croat communists made some
timid attempts in this direction.
The unforeseen consequence of these developments was political
pluralism. In the spring and summer of 1989, a plethora of new political
parties appeared in both Slovenia and Croatia. They were legalized by the
communists toward the end of the same year.
The strained relationship between Serbia and Slovenia (the latter
making up 8 percent of the population was responsible for 20 percent of
the GDP of Yugoslavia and one-third of its Western exports) reached the
boiling point in the winter of 1989. Confronted by Slovenian reforming
communists led by Milan Kučan, Milošević attempted to get rid of them by
means of the ruse of an explanatory meeting on Serbian policy in Kosovo.
When the Slovenes refused to take part in the meeting scheduled for 1
December of that year, the date of the celebration of the unification of
Yugoslavia, the Serbs and their Montenegrin allies organized caravans with
thousands of people intended to “educate” the Ljubljana Slovenian
population. Fearing that these maneuvers might degenerate into street
fighting and even a coup, the Slovenian police blocked all access to
Ljubljana. In response, the Serbs broke off all relationships with Slovenia
and instituted a boycott of Slovenian goods. Both Serbs and Slovenes
decided to annul all debts existing between enterprises in the two
republics.
On this background, the January 1990 Extraordinary Congress of the
Communist Party turned out to be a failure and was actually the last
congress held at federal level. After the Slovenes had departed, the Croats
followed suite. National center-right groups won multiparty elections in
Slovenia (April 1990) and in Croatia (May 1990). The new Slovenian
government was made up chiefly of members of the DEMOS coalition
movement (an acronym for the elected Democratic Opposition consisting of
5 parties) and an elected president, Milan Kučan. In December 1990, the
Slovenes held a referendum by which they voted for the full independence
of their state in association with Yugoslavia.
The winner of elections in Croatia was the Croat National Union, the
leader of which, the former general and dissident, Franjo Tudjman, was
elected President. Both Croatia and Slovenia took important steps toward
democratization and the implementation of market economies. Unfortunately,
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these efforts were somewhat hindered by the amateurism and populism of
the new political élite, especially in the case of Croatia.
The November 1990 elections in Bosnia and Herzegovina and in
Macedonia also gave proof of the force of national parties. The electoral
race, taking place one month later in Serbia and Montenegro), although
disappointing, overall, to the non-communists, nevertheless proved that
Milošević was not a very successful candidate in ethnically mixed areas
(Voivodina and Sandjak) and one who lacked popularity in Belgrade and in
other urban areas.
Eventually, all the plans for a weak confederation, the model for which
would have been the European Community, failed. In June 1991, the
Slovenian and Croat parliaments proclaimed the total independence of the
two republics, whereas the new “little” Yugoslavia entered down its rocky
road toward democracy while undergoing a new experiment in
authoritarianism and ethnic cleansing under Milošević.
C. CONCLUSIONS
To sum up, Eastern Europe and the former Soviet Union witnessed, in the
late 1980s and early 1990s, basically six transition paths to democracy
and market economy. They included transition through negotiation
(Poland and Hungary), transition through capitulation (the former German
Democratic Republic and the former Czechoslovakia), transition through
coup d’état and liberalization (Bulgaria), transition through popular
uprising and coup d’état (Romania), transition through liberalization and
collapse (Albania), and transition through liberalization and implosion (the
former Soviet Union and former Yugoslavia).
Political change in Poland was a negotiated transition process. Although
unconstitutional, it was led by the élite and resulted in the replacement of
military-bureaucratic authoritarianism by democracy.
In Hungary, political change was also the result of a transition, but it
included a promulgated reform and a referendum, thus involving the
masses in addition to the élites.
In the German Democratic Republic, the road to democracy did not
take the form of negotiation, in spite of the fact that the Round Table
element was present throughout the process. Under pressure from people
who had taken to the streets, the government could only negotiate its own
surrender, thus the process took the form of sheer capitulation.
Popular pressure from below was instrumental in Czechoslovakia as
well, leading to the capitulation of the old totalitarian régime.
Consequently, political change assumed the form of a peaceful – or, as it
was called, “velvet” – revolution.
In Bulgaria, what had started as a coup d’état, exclusively involving the
élite of the dictatorial régime, led to a change of régime through
liberalization involving both the “new-old” élite and the masses.
In Romania, the change of régime assumed the form of a violent
revolution combined with a coup. It was unconstitutional, not negotiated,
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299
and involved not only the masses, but also some of the lower echelons of
the élite of the former régime.
In Albania, transition was accomplished through the gradual
liberalization of the old régime and the near collapse of the posttotalitarian régime.
In the case of the Soviet Union, the end of the totalitarian régime came
at the conjuncture of simultaneous attempts to dismantle the command
economy and totalitarian political practices and to construct a democratic
multinational federation. What had started as a process of economic and
political liberalization through “top to bottom” reforms, ended up as an
implosion of the multinational federal state.
Last but not least, in the case of former Yugoslavia, an incomplete
liberalization of the old régime was followed by an implosion of the former
multinational federal structure having as a result a dramatic ethnically
driven crisis and an incomplete democratization.
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The Authors
BARROWS, Leland Conley. Senior Editor, Programme Specialist, and
Professor
Address: UNESCO-CEPES (European Centre for Higher Education),
39, Ştirbei Vodă St., R-70732 Bucharest, Romania.
Tel.: +401-313-0839 Fax: +401-312-3567 E-mail:
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BREZEANU, Stelian. Professor Dr., Head.
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Fax: +401-310-0680 E-mail: [email protected]
304
Index
A
Aachen, 50
Aarne, Antti, 198
Acarnania, 95
Adriatic Sea, 127, 242, 244
Aegean Sea, 127, 239
Aesop, 34
Agathias of Myrina, 20, 36
Ahweiler, Hélène, 31
Alba Regia, 48
Albania, 158, 236, 239, 241, 243, 247,
269, 286, 287, 288
Greater Albania, 243
Albanian Church, 180
Albanian Communist Party, 287
Albanian Workers’ Party, 287
Albanians, 94, 151, 153, 231, 232, 241,
242, 243, 251
Kosovo Albanians, 250
Ottoman Empire Albanians, 242
Alecsandri, Vasile, 154
Alexander the Good (Alexandru cel Bun),
57, 87, 88
Alexander the Great, 65, 204, 210
Alexius I Comnenus, 119, 120
Ali Pasha of Yanina, 96, 141
Alia, Ramiz, 243, 287, 288, 289, 290
Alliance of Free Democrats, 274
Alousianos, 125
alphabet
Cyrillic, 47, 295
Glagolitic, 47
Greek, 140, 142
Latin, 140, 143, 295
Slavonic, 47
Aminciu (Metsovo), 136
Anastasi, Rosario, 18
Andreescu, Gabriel, 230, 284
Andronicus II Palaiologus, 78
Angeli Dynasty, 122, 127
Angelov, Dimităr, 110
Angevin Dynasty, 83
Ansbertus, 118, 122
Antal, Jósef, 274
Anthropological School, 197
Antioch Oecumenical Patriarchate, 180
Antonescu, General Ion, 159
Aphtonios of Antioch, 29, 33
Apianus, 35
Apostol, Gheorghe, 284
Arabs, 19, 241
Arato, Andrew, 263
Aravantinos, Panaiotis, 109
Archangel Michael, 217
Archimandrite Averkie (Anastasie Iaciu
Buda), 152, 153, 154
Arendt, Hannah, 263, 265, 267
Argeş Metropolitan Church, 84, 86
Aristotle, 260, 262
Armbruster, Adolf, 103
Armenia, 292, 295
Armenians, 242
Aromanian, 187
first national renaissance, 96, 245
second national renaissance, 96, 245
Aromanian Ladies Society, 141
Aromanian Romanianity, 142
Aromanians, 95, 102, 114, 134, 135,
136, 137, 138, 140, 141, 144, 145,
146, 147, 148, 149, 150, 151, 152,
154, 155, 156, 157, 158, 159
Balkan Aromanians, 248
Central European Aromanians, 142
Greek Aromanians, 159
Moscopolis Aromanians, 101
Pindus Aromanians, 158
Arpadian clan, 48
Arpadian Dynasty, 83
Arrianus, 35
Asen, 91
Asenid Dynasty, 12, 90, 97, 99, 101,
103, 109, 110, 111, 116, 117, 118,
119, 120, 121, 122, 123, 124, 129
Asenid State, 233
Asia Minor, 66, 119, 159, 235, 236
Atanasescu, Dimitrie, 149, 152, 154
Atanasov, Georgi, 280
Augustus, Octavian (Gaius Julius
Caesar Octavianus), 65, 259
Augustus’s Principality, 65
Aurelian (Lucius Domitius Aurelianus),
98, 146
Austrian historiography, 98
Austro-Hungarian Empire, 12, 239, 249,
252, 254
Avars, 19
Avdela, 153
Axum Kingdom, 67
Azerbaijan, 292, 295
B
Babeş, Liviu, 285
Bălcescu, Nicolae, 134, 148, 151
Baldwin of Flanders, 117
Balkan ethnogenesis, 232
Balkan Peninsula, 46, 47, 48, 52, 57,
63, 75, 79, 94, 96, 108, 115, 116,
126, 128, 129, 130, 134, 136, 137,
138, 139, 140, 145, 148, 152, 158,
305
306
INDEX
177, 232, 237, 238, 244, 245, 247,
249
Balkan Romanianism, 248
Balkan Romanity policy, 102, 134
Balkan Wars, 157, 235, 248, 251
Balkanology, 99
Banat, 59, 114, 118, 133, 141, 158, 232
Bănescu, Nicolae, 101, 111
Barbaricum, 46
Bardă, Alexie (Badralexi), 153
Basil I, 80, 81
Basil II, 79, 115, 120, 124, 125, 127
Basil of Caesarea, 29
basilica
Corvey, 50
Pliska, 47, 49, 50, 52, 54, 56
Saint Achilles of Prespa, 54
Saint Peter of Werden, 50
Salvator, 50
Santa Cecilia, 50
Santa Maria, 50
Santa Prassede, 50
Bassarab I, 58, 83, 85
Bassarabs Dynasty, 55, 57, 58, 131,
146
Battle of Klokotnitsa, 76
Battle of Kosovo, 233, 296
Battle of Lebounion, 120
Battle of Mohács, 233, 252
Battle of Posada, 11, 83
Battle of Velbuzhde, 78
Batzaria, Nicolae, 247
Beck, Hans-Georg, 30
Bédier, J., 198
Bela IV, 82, 119
Belarus, 295
Belgrade, 244, 247, 298
Bellah, Robert N., 215
Benfey, Th., 197
Benjamin of Tudela, 120
Beria, Lavrenti, 291
Berisha, Sali, 289, 290
Berlin Treaty, 250
Berlin Wall, 276, 277, 278
Bessarabia, 245
Bîrlădeanu, Alexandru, 284
Bishop Ambrose of Milan, 183
Bishop Damian, 222
Bishop Gregory, 222
Bishop Jacynt, 84
Bitola, 143, 155
Blandiana, Ana, 284
Bogdan, 87
Bogdanids Dynasty, 57
Bogomilism, 129
Boiagi, Mihail G., 144, 149, 151, 245
Bolintineanu, Dimitrie, 149, 150, 151
Bolliac, Cezar, 149, 150, 152
Boril, 129, 133
Boris-Mihail, 47, 49, 52, 53, 54, 69, 74,
91, 124
Bosnia, 48, 95, 232, 241, 250
Bosnia and Herzegovina, 231, 232, 249,
250, 295, 298
Bosnian Academy, 112
Bosnians, 241, 248
Botev, Hristo, 238
Botez, Mihai, 284
Božic, Ivan, 114
Božilov, Ivan, 110
Braşov demonstration, 284
Brătianu, Dumitru, 154
Brătianu, Gheorghe I., 101, 130
Brătianu, Ion C., 149, 150
Bréhier, L., 64, 66
Brinton, Crane, 266
Brucan, Silviu, 284
Bucharest, 243, 245
Bucharest Society for Macedo-Romanian
Culture, 154
Bucovina, 245
Budapest, 141, 145, 245, 276
Bulgaria, 46, 52, 53, 55, 75, 78, 90, 91,
111, 159, 180, 185, 237, 238, 239,
241, 246, 248, 251, 269, 279
Greater Bulgaria (San Stefano
Bulgaria), 239
Bulgarian, 98, 180, 187
First Czardom, 68, 74, 90, 91, 131,
233
Second Czardom, 75, 76, 78, 91, 95,
97, 101, 110, 116, 117, 118,
123, 124, 129, 131, 132, 133,
233
Bulgarian Church, 110, 125, 126, 127
Bulgarian Communist Party, 281
Bulgarian Exarchate, 238
Bulgarian historiography, 109, 110
Bulgarian Orthodox Church, 180
Bulgarian Patriarchate, 75
Bulgarian Principality, 239
Bulgarian revisionism, 240
Bulgarian Revolutionary Central
Committee, 238
Bulgarian Socialist Party (BSP), 281
Bulgarians, 34, 74, 128, 133, 146, 151,
181, 190, 232, 236, 237, 251
Bulgarization, 132
Bulgars, 19, 47, 48
Byzantine
classicism, 42
court, 24, 31
culture, 17, 19, 20, 24, 27, 29, 31
historiography, 22, 23, 24, 43, 104,
106, 107
humanism, 19, 22, 40
INDEX
hymnography, 214
ideology, 18, 19, 23, 24, 42, 43, 64,
65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 74, 88, 89, 91
institutions, 41
language, 43
Latin-Greek diglot, 27, 37, 41, 43
literature, 18, 33, 35
rhetoric, 23, 28, 30, 31, 32, 42, 43
society, 17, 22, 30, 31
sources, 94, 97, 98, 117, 121
style, 18, 19, 21, 28, 29, 30, 32, 33,
38, 39, 40, 43
themes, 41, 119, 126, 127
vocabulary, 18, 25, 27, 28, 32
world, 18, 30, 64, 67, 68, 70, 77, 86,
123
writers, 27, 31, 32, 35, 36, 37, 40
Byzantine Church, 80
Byzantine Empire, 11, 12, 24, 30, 31,
41, 42, 63, 66, 69, 81, 90, 103, 106,
119, 121, 234
Byzantine Renaissance, 22
Byzantinology, 19, 38, 105
Byzantium, 17, 18, 19, 21, 24, 25, 26,
27, 28, 30, 31, 32, 43, 48, 49, 51,
52, 54, 56, 59, 107, 115, 121, 122,
123, 124, 125, 126, 128, 130, 131,
138, 139, 210
C
Caecilius of Kaleacte, 29
Călăreţi, 136
Cambridge School, 197
Campbell, Joseph, 204
Câmpineanu, Ion, 154
Câmpulung Muscel, 57
Cankova-Petkova, Genoveva, 110
Cantacuzino Dynasty, 89
Cantacuzino, High Steward Constantine
(Stolnicul Constantin Cantacuzino),
97, 146
Cantemir, Dimitrie, 97, 98, 132, 146
Capella, Venetian Victor, 34
Capidan, Theodor, 101, 118, 143, 149
Carageani, Gheorghe, 101, 103
Caragiani, Ioan J., 100, 153, 154
Caragiu-Marioţeanu, Matilda, 95, 101,
103
Carol I, 157
Carolingian Empire, 50, 56, 68
Cartojan, Nicolae, 211
Castoria, 55, 127
Catherine the Great, 233, 234
Catholic Church, 129
Catholicism, 80, 83, 84, 107, 128, 132,
133, 156, 241
Cavaliotti, Theodore Anastasie, 137,
139, 140, 143
307
Ceauşescu, Elena, 283
Ceauşescu, Nicolae, 281, 282, 283, 284,
285
Ceres, 183
Chalcocondyles, Laonikos, 34, 95, 105
Chalkeus, John, 137
Charlemagne, 68, 70
Charles Robert of Anjou, 83
Chernenko, Konstantin, 291
Chiţt, Gh., 154
Choniates, Nicetas, 75, 104, 117, 119,
120, 121, 122, 124
Christianity, 15, 20, 26, 27, 29, 46, 47,
48, 50, 56, 58, 59, 141, 149, 196,
214, 224, 249
Christianization, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 56,
58, 65, 68, 69, 71, 74, 79, 189
Christians, 79, 80, 81
Christmas, 180, 183, 187
Chrysant of Zitsa, 137
Chrysos, Dobromir, 121
church of Alba Regia, 52
church of the Holy Archangels, 55
Church of the Holy Sepulcher, 65
Cicero (Marcus Tullius), 195, 213
Cigalas, 210
Cinnamus, Ioannes, 120
Clari, Robert de, 117
Clement, 50, 55
Clisura, 136
Club for Glasnost and Democracy, 280
Cold War, 266, 277, 278
Communist Party of Serbia, 296
Comnena, Anna, 114
Comneni Dynasty, 126, 127
Comnenoi Dynasty, 51, 76, 91, 121
Conference of Florence, 243
Congres of Berlin, 239
Congress of Vienna, 231
Constantin Brâncoveanu, 59, 210
Constantine Bodin (Peter), 125, 130
Constantine the Great, 54, 65, 66, 68,
71, 73
Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus, 22, 33,
34, 36, 37, 40, 68, 71
Constantine VIII, 120
Constantinople, 47, 50, 51, 53, 65, 68,
69, 70, 74, 76, 78, 80, 84, 90, 121,
233, 234, 235, 238, 242
Constantinople (Tzarigrad), 76
Constantinople Church, 67, 70
Constantinople Patriarchate, 48, 63, 84,
85, 139, 236
Constitution of Mihat Pasha, 238
Corfu Declaration, 254
Corinthians, 188
Cosma the Etolian, 149
Cosmas Indicopleustes, 73
308
INDEX
Costin, Miron, 97, 146
Costin, Nicholas (Nicolae), 57
Coteanu, Ion, 102
Cox, Marian, 198
Cozacovici, Dimitrie, 149, 150
Craiova Treaty, 246
Croat National Union, 297
Croat Peasants’ Party, 254
Croat Right Party, 253, 254
Croatia, 95, 232, 252, 295, 297
Greater Croatia, 253
Croatian historiography, 112
Croats, 232, 241, 248, 249, 251, 252,
255
Muslim Croats, 249
Crown of St. Stephen (Hungary), 252
Crucifixion, 187, 189
Crum, 74, 90
Čubrilović, Vasa, 112
Cumans, 34, 116, 130, 132
Curtea de Argeş, 52, 57, 59
Cuza, Alexandru Ioan, 142, 150, 152,
239, 245
Czechoslovak Communist Party, 278
Czechoslovakia, 268, 269, 275, 277, 278
D
Dacia, 98, 100, 107, 116, 145, 146
Dagron, Gilbert, 19, 26
Dalmatia, 249, 252
Dalmatian coast, 95, 101
Dan II, 87
Daniil Mihail Hagi Adami, the
Moscopolean, 138, 139, 140
Danube, 46, 56, 75, 82, 84, 120, 125,
130, 132, 143, 146, 232, 239, 240,
244, 245, 246, 248, 278
Danube-Black Sea Canal, 283
Darvari, Constantine I., 145
Darvari, Dimitri Nicholas, 145
Dawson, Christopher, 46
Decebalus, 107
Deljan, Peter, 125
Demeter, 183
Deşliu, Dan, 284
Dinescu, Mircea, 284, 285
Diocletian (Gaius Aurelius Valerius
Diocletianus), 21, 72
Dionysius of Halicarnassus, 29, 35
Dionysus, 193, 194
Dionysus Exiguous (the Little), 180
Djurdjev, Branislav, 113
Djurdjevi Stupovi, 51
Djurova, A., 47
Djuvara, Neagu, 103
Dobromir, 126
Dobrotitsa, 86, 89
Dobrudja, 55, 59, 86, 96, 118, 239, 240
Quadrilateral, 159, 246
Dölger, F., 64, 72
Doukas, Neophytos, 138, 144
Dragomir, Silviu, 101, 102, 118
Dragoş of Moldavia, 57, 87
Drinov, Marin, 109
Du Cange, Charles Du Fresne, 105
Dubček, Alexander, 278, 279
Dujčev, Ivan, 110
Duklya, 48
Durkheim, Emile, 215
Duţu, Alexandru, 207
Dvornik, Francis, 66, 111
Dyscolos, 29
E
East Berlin, 277
Easter, 180, 181
Eastern Christianity, 182
Eastern Rumelia, 184, 239
Ecoglasnost, 280
Ecological Movement Party, 286
Eder, Johann Carl, 98, 107
Eginhard, 68
Egypt, 188, 242
Eliade, Mircea, 192, 193
Engel, Johann Christian, 98, 107
Engels, Friedrich, 266
Enlightenment, 96, 143, 230, 234
Ephesus, 210
Epiphany Day, 182
Epirus, 95, 96, 121, 136, 149, 152, 235,
236
Estonia, 292, 294
Esztergom, 48
Etolia, 95
Eucharist, 182, 187, 188, 189
Europe, 46, 55, 177, 197, 213, 229,
230, 231, 232, 235, 238, 258
Central Europe, 16, 252
Eastern Europe, 12, 47, 58, 63, 68,
79, 86, 173, 231, 260, 269, 286
Southeastern Europe, 15, 49, 63, 77,
78, 83, 89, 90, 100, 115, 122,
127, 133, 175, 177, 179, 181,
182, 184, 186, 188, 190, 191,
192, 209, 210, 224, 231, 232,
233, 235
Southern Europe, 260
Western Europe, 230, 252
European Parliament, 248
Eusebius, Bishop of Caesarea, 65
F
fall of Constantinople, 77, 81, 91
fall of the Bastille, 265
Faveyral of Bitola, 156
INDEX
Federation of Young Democrats, 274
Fénelon, (François de Salignac de La
Mothe), 207
Ferguson, Adam, 262
Ferrara Synod, 222
Fichte, Johann Gottlieb, 262
Filipescu, Radu, 284
Filipović, Milenko, 112
Finnish school of historical geography,
198
First Bulgarian Czardom, 12
First World War, 96, 158, 176, 193, 231,
241, 242, 243, 246, 247, 248, 250,
253, 254
Florence Agreement, 243
Former Yugoslavia, 12, 16, 229, 248,
249, 295
Fotino, Dionysius, 97
Fourth Crusade, 67, 69
France, 230, 261, 289
Frasheri brothers, 243
Frazer, James George, 197, 200
Frederick Barbarossa, 69, 122, 128
Free Romanian Worker’s Union
(SLOMR), 284
French Revolution, 231, 234, 259, 265,
285
Freud, Sigmund, 198
Friesland, the Frisian Islands, 46
Friulian, 187
G
Gabriel Radomir, 125
Gaj, L., 253
Garasanin, Ilia, 253
Gavriil the Protos, 52
Gdansk Inter-factory Strike Committee,
270
Gennep, Arnold van, 199
German Democratic Republic, 268, 269,
275, 276, 277
Geza I, 48, 73
Ghermani, Menelas, 154
Ghica, Dimitrie, 154
Ghica, Grigore, 150
Ghica, Ion, 134, 148, 154
Ghyka of Djanfalva, Constantine
Immanuel, 145
Giurescu, Constantin C., 102
Gjuzelev, Vasil, 110
Glorious Revolution, 265
Goma, Paul, 284
Gorbachev, Mikhail, 271, 272, 277, 281,
285, 290, 291, 292, 293, 294, 295
Gramoste, 136
Gramsci, Antonio, 262, 270
Grand Duchy of Muscovy, 11
309
Grandea, Grigore Haralambie, 149, 150,
151
Graur, Alexandru, 102
Great Britain, 239
Great Knezate of Muscovy, 91
Great Principality of Kiev, 68
Grecu, Vasile, 34
Greece, 67, 135, 152, 157, 158, 175,
180, 182, 184, 185, 193, 235, 236,
243, 251, 260, 287, 289
Greek, 18, 20, 22, 26, 27, 33, 35, 37
Attic and Atticizing Greek, 10, 27,
29, 32, 36, 41
culture, 35
literature, 28, 36
style, 36
world, 26, 40
writers of late antiquity, 35
Greek Church, 180
Greek historiography, 109
Greek-Aromanian Church, 141
Greek-Orthodox Church, 96
Greeks, 94, 139, 151, 157, 159, 181,
185, 190, 232, 234, 251
Greenfeld, Liah, 266
Gregory of Nazianz, 29
Gregory of Nyssa, 29
Grimm, Jakob and Wilhelm, 201
Grósz, Károly, 272
Gurr, Ted Robert, 266
Gypsies, 231, 232, 251
Gysi, Gregor, 278
Gyula, 48
H
Habermas, Jürgen, 263, 264
Habsburg Empire, 96, 140, 141, 142,
145, 147, 232, 233, 241, 244, 249,
252
Hades, 194
Hagi-Tchagani, Constantine, 138
Hahn, J. G. von, 204
Hahn, Ludwig, 26
Hamartolos, Georgios, 21
Hasdeu, Bogdan Petriceicu, 99, 132, 220
Havel, Václav, 268, 278, 279
Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, 262
Hellas, 121
Byzantinism, 26, 27, 41
Hellenes, 26, 30
Hellenic revival, 233
Hellenic style, 35, 41
Hellenism, 23, 26, 27, 29, 35, 96,
139, 141, 147, 148, 151, 153,
232, 246
Hellenistic world, 28, 65
Hellenity, 233
Hellenization, 20, 106, 126
310
INDEX
post-Byzantine Hellenism, 138
Romaioi, 26, 34, 37
Henry VI, 69
Heraclius, 21, 41, 42
Hermogenes of Tarsus, 29
Herodian, 29
Herodotus, 33, 34, 41
Hetairia Philiké, 235
Höfler, Constantin von, 111
Holiday of the Fifty, 184, 185
Holiday of the Tents, 185
Holy Scriptures, 29, 32
Homer, 42
Honecker, Erich, 275, 276, 277
Honko, Lauri, 201, 223
House of Hohenstaufen, 90
Hoxha, Enver, 244, 287, 289, 290
Hoxha, Nexhmije, 289
Hume, David, 262
Hunfalvy, Paul, 98, 107
Hungarian, 105
Hungarian Communist Party, 268
Hungarian Democratic Forum, 274
Hungarian Democratic Union of
Romania, 286
Hungarian historiography, 98
Hungarian Kingdom, 99, 116
Hungarian Revolution, 274
Hungarians, 48, 87, 98
Hungary, 52, 58, 68, 83, 86, 87, 96,
120, 128, 132, 140, 268, 270, 273,
274, 276
Hunger, Herbert, 18, 30, 39
Huntington, Samuel P., 260, 267
Husák, Gustáv, 279
I
Ianovici, Nicholas, 145
Iliescu, Ion, 286
Illyria, 99, 106
Illyrians, 232
Illyric movement, 253
India, 197
Inter-Orthodox Congress,
Constantinople, 1923, 180
Ionescu de la Brad, Ion, 134
Ionescu, Nicolae, 154
Ionescu, Take, 155, 157
Ioniţă (Kaloyan), 75, 105, 106, 107, 116,
117, 122, 124, 128, 129, 130, 131,
132
Ioniţă, Ion, 284
Iorga, Nicolae, 99, 100, 101, 102, 130,
132
Iosipescu, Sergiu, 103
Iran, 250
Iraq, 250
Iron Curtain, 276
Iron Guard, 159
Isaac II Angelus, 77, 119, 121, 122
Islam, 241, 249, 250
Islamic fundamentalism, 250
Islamization, 241
Israel, 175, 188
Istrian Peninsula, 95
Istro-Romanian, 187
Italians, 230, 252
Italy, 241, 243, 287
Ivan III the Great, 81
Ivan IV (the Terrible), 81
Ivănescu, George, 119
Izetbegović, Alia, 250
J
Jaroslav the Wise, 48, 56
Jaruzelski, Wojciech, 272
Jason, Heda, 203, 216, 223
Jeanmaire, H., 193
Jenkins, Romilly J. H., 33
Jerusalem, 179, 210
Jerusalem Oecumenical Patriarchate,
65, 180
Jesus Christ, 179, 180, 181, 183, 185,
187, 188
Jews, 185, 232, 242, 251
Jireček, Constantin, 109
Jiu Valley strike, 284
John Alexander, 76
John Asen II, 12, 75, 76, 90, 97, 109,
116, 117, 118, 120, 122, 129, 130,
131
John Cantacuzino, 34
John Chrysostom, 29
John Hunyady, 106
John I Zimisces, 75, 115, 124
John III Vatatzes, 76
John Kaminatos, 22
John Lawrence of Lydos, 20, 25, 36, 40,
41
John Malalas, 20, 21, 22, 40
John of Epiphaneia, 20
John of Târnava, 88
John Taronites, 34
John the Exarch, 52
John the Orphanotrophe, 125
John the Romanian, 210
John Vladislav, 75, 125
Joseph Genesios, 22, 40
Joseph II, 141
Joseph the Philosopher, 31
Julian Calendar (Western Calendar,
Sosigene’s calendar), 180
Jung, Carl Gustav, 198, 205
Justinian I (Flavius Ancius Justinianus),
20, 34, 41, 49, 54, 66, 67, 68, 69,
75, 78
INDEX
Justiniana Prima, 47
K
Kádár, János, 272, 283
Kadare, Ismail, 289
Kalari, 141
Kalinderu, Ioan, 154
Kalocsa, 48
Kant, Immanuel, 261, 262
Karadjić, Vuk, 144, 252
Karageorgevich Dynasty, 252, 254
Karavelov, Luben, 238
Karlowitz (Novi Sad), 252
Katz, Mark N., 266
Kedrenos, George, 18
Kekaumenos, 107, 120, 121, 127
Kemal, Ismail, 243
Keramopoulos, Antonios, 109
Kerényi, C., 198, 205
KGB [K(omitet) G(osudarstvennoj)
B(ezpastnosti), 291, 292, 294
Khrushchev, Nikita, 287
Kiev, 47, 53, 79, 292
Kiev Saint Sophia Church, 52, 56
King Solomon, 216
Kingdom of Bulgarians and Vlachs, 116
Kingdom of the Serbs, Croats, and
Slovenes, 254
Kinnamos, 105
Kis, János, 268
Kissinger, Henry, 269
Klaić, Vjekoslav, 112
Kogălniceanu, Mihail, 97, 148
Kołakowski, Leszek, 270
Konrád, György, 268
Kopitar, Jernej Bartolomej, 144
Koraïs, Adamantios, 144, 234
Kosovo, 79, 232, 242, 244, 255, 288,
295, 296
Kosovo Autonomous Region, 288
Koumas, Konstantinos, 109
Kravchuk, Leonid, 295
Krenz, Egon, 277
Kriaras, Emanoil, 30, 31
Krohn, Julius, 198
Krohn, Kaarle, 198
Krumbacher, Karl, 18, 38
Kučan, Milan, 297
Kučevište, 55
Kuroń, Jacek, 270
Kuršumlya, 51
L
Lahovary, Alexandru E., 157
Lang, Andrew, 197
Larissa, 119, 136
Last Supper, 187, 190
311
Laţcu, son of Bogdan, 87
Latin, 18, 20, 22, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 35,
36, 37, 40, 41
Latin words in Byzantine literature
Byzantinisms, 27
Latinisms, 18, 19, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28,
33, 35, 36, 39, 40, 41, 42
Latinity, 10, 11, 15, 58, 100, 143
Latinization, 99
Latvia, 292
Lazarev, Victor, 30
Lazarou, Achileas, 109
Le Goff, Jacques, 207
Lecapenus, Romanus, 75
Lemerle, Paul, 19, 30
Lenin, Nikolai, Vladimir Illyici Ulyanov,
266
Leo I, 73
Leo the Deacon, 22, 40
Leo VI the Wise, 73, 78
Leon de Santa Croce, 116
Lessa, William A., 179, 214, 215
Letter of the Six, 284
Lévi-Strauss, Claude, 198, 201
Levsky, Vasil, 238
Libanios, 29
Lilov, Alexander, 281
Linz, Juan J., 283
Litavrin, Ghenadi G., 110, 111
Lithuania, 80, 292
Litovoi, 82, 83
Ljubarsky, J., 18
Ljubljana, 297
Locke, John, 261, 265
Lopašić, Radoslav, 112
Lord, Albert, 197
Louis I of Anjou, 85, 87, 88
Louis Napoleon (Napoleon III), 150, 259
Louis the German, 47
Lucius Johannes Dalmata (Ivan Lučić),
106, 114
M
Macedonia, 55, 67, 95, 99, 127, 145,
152, 155, 157, 184, 235, 236, 239,
250, 251, 295, 298
Greek Macedonia, 159
Ottoman Macedonia, 246
Macedonian Dynasty, 19, 22, 40
Macedonian Renaissance, 22, 36, 37, 43
Macedonians, 231, 232, 248, 251
Machiavelli, 258
Magnus Presbyter, 122, 128
Magyarism, 254
Magyarization, 253
Maior, Petru, 98, 143, 146
Maiorescu, Titu, 154, 247
Malinowsky, Bronislaw, 200
312
INDEX
Manduca, Dionysius, 137
Mănescu, Corneliu, 284
Manuel I Comnenus, 77, 120
Maramureş, 87, 232
Marchide Puliu, 142
Margarit, Apostol, 155, 156
Margo, C., 55
Maritsa River, 79
Marx, Karl, 266
Matei Bassarab, 59
Maurer, Ioan Gheorghe, 282
Mauricius, 21
Mauss, M., 202
Mavrovlachs, Morlachs
Latini Nigri, 105
Mazowiecki, Tadeusz, 272
Menander Protector, 20, 36
Mesembria, 126
Metropolitan Church of Kiev and all
Russia, 80
Michael IV Paphlagonian, 125
Michael the Brave (Mihai Viteazul), 89,
236
Michael VII, 73
Michael VIII Palaeologus, 69
Michnik, Adam, 229, 268, 270, 272
Miclescu, Calinic, 154
Micu, Samuil, 98, 146
Middle Ages, 177, 194, 207, 208, 209,
210, 213, 230, 232, 244
Mihăescu, Haralambie, 103
Mihailović, D., 255
Mikhail of Zeta, 125
Miklosich, Franz, 81, 98
Milescu, Nicholas, the Sword Bearer
(Nicolae Milescu Spătarul), 146
Mileševa, 56
Milošević, Slobodan, 288, 296, 297, 298
Milyutin (Stephen Urosh II), 56, 77
Mircea the Elder (Mircea cel Bătrân), 86,
89
Mladenov, Petăr, 281
Modrow, Hans, 277
Modrowm, Hans, 278
Moesia, 99, 102, 117, 122
Moesians, 34
Moglena, 119
Moldavia, 57, 87, 88, 97, 132, 222
Moldova, 295
monastery
Cotmeana, 55
Cozia, 55, 59
Dečani, 54
Hilandar, 54, 237
Imaret Djami, 55
Iviron, 152, 153
Lavra, 119
Mileševa, 54
Radu Vodă, 153
Sopočani, 54
Studenica, 51
Tismana, 55
Vodiţa, 55
Monastic Republic of Mount Athos, 180
Monembassy, Dorotheus, 210
monism, 269
Montan, Georg, 145
Montesquieu, Charles Louis, 261, 262
Morava Valley, 55, 244
Moravcsik, Gyula, 18, 33, 34
Mosaic Easter, 184
Moscopolean School, 245
Moscopolis, 96, 136, 137, 139, 140,
141, 143, 147, 245
Motru Valley strike, 284
Mount Athos, 55, 78, 79, 86, 88, 153
mountains
Alps, 46
Carpathians, 56, 58, 82, 83, 84, 87
Caucasus, 56, 67
Haemus, 75, 95, 102
Pindus, 95, 136, 141, 148, 158, 159,
232, 244, 246
Rodope, 95
Mugośa, Duśan, 287
Müller, Max, 197
Murnu, George, 100, 119, 121, 127,
143, 158, 247
Muşat, Roman, 88
Muşatins Dynasty, 57, 146
Muscovy Czardom, 11, 91
Muslims, 242, 248, 250
Mustafaj, Besnik, 289
Mutafčiev, Petăr, 110
N
Nagorno-Karabagh, 292
Nagy, Imre, 274
Nahum, 50, 55
Nano, Fatos, 290
Napoleonic Wars, 231
Năsturel, Petre Şerban, 103
National Christian Democratic Peasant
Party, 286
National Interest Defense Committee,
281
National Liberal Party, 286
National Salvation Front (FSN), 286, 290
Naumann, Hans, 198
Neagoe Bassarab, 52, 89, 222
Nedić, B., 255
Negri, Costache, 152
Nemanyid Dynasty, 49, 51, 56, 64, 115
neo-Greek, 27
Neoplatonists, 65
Nestor, 126
INDEX
Nevski Cathedral Square, 281
New Economic Mechanism, 272
New Economic Policy (NEP), 291
New Rome. See Byzantium
New Testament, 185, 188, 219
Nicaea, 49, 69
Nicaea Empire, 123
Nicholas Alexander (Nicolae Alexandru),
84, 85, 90
Nicodemus, 55
Nicolidis of Pindo, John, 145
Nicolova, Vanya, 187
Niculescu, Mihai, 149
Niculiţel, 55
Niculitsa, 119, 120, 121, 123, 126, 131
Nikephoros Choumnos, 32
Nikov, Petar, 110
Nile Valley, 183
Niš, 254
Normans, 119
North America, 261
North Korea, 283
Northern Dobrudja, 239
Novaković, Stojan, 112, 113
O
Obolensky, D., 64
Obradović, Dositej, 252
Obrenovich, Milosh, 253
Odessa, 234
Oecumenical Patriarchate, 63, 70, 77,
80, 84, 87, 96, 142, 148, 155, 156,
180, 238, 246
Oecumenical Patriarchate of Alexandria,
180
Ohrid, 55
Ohrid Archbishopric, 236
Oikonomides, Nikolaos, 123
Old Serbia, 232
Old Testament, 188, 219
Olga of Kiev, 47, 48
Olt, 83
Oltenia, 118, 133
Omurtag, 74
Onciul, Dimitre, 99, 102, 118, 121, 132
Opp, Karl-Dieter, 267
Opposition Round Table, 274
Orthodox Christianity, 10
Orthodox Church, 12, 126, 141, 178,
214, 219
Orthodox Commonwealth, 90
Orthodox Patriarchates, 11
Orthodoxy, 67, 70, 130, 131, 132, 138,
139, 156, 176, 201, 214, 216, 233,
241
Osiris, 183, 194
Ostrogorsky, G., 64
Ostrogoths, 34
313
Otto I of Bavaria, 142, 235
Otto the Great, 69
Ottoman Empire, 12, 103, 104, 112,
113, 120, 134, 135, 137, 138, 150,
152, 155, 156, 157, 210, 232, 233,
234, 237, 239, 242, 243, 246, 249,
253
Ottomanization, 242
Ovid (Publius Ovidius Naso), 195
P
Pachymeris, Georgios, 119
Paganism, 67, 139
Paine, Thomas, 265
Paisij Hilandarski, 54, 109, 132, 237
Palach, Jan, 278
Pamperi, Dimitrios, 137
Panaitescu, Petre P., 101, 118
Pannonia, 46, 48, 57, 232
Panu, Anastase, 150, 152
Papa Eftimiu, Basil, 145
Papacostea, Şerban, 103
Papacostea, Victor, 100, 136, 137, 139
Papahagi, Tache, 118
Papahagi, Valeriu, 100, 136
Paparigopoulos, Konstantinos, 109
Parry, Milan, 197
Parsons, Talcott, 263
Party of Democratic Socialism (PDS),
278
Pashko, Gamoz, 289
Pasić government, 254
Passover, 185
Patriarch Athony IV, 80
Patriarch Ignatius, 47
Patriarch Ioasaf, 137
Patriarch Nicholas the Mystic, 68, 74
Patriarch Photyios, 47
Pavelić, Ante, 254
Peć, 56
Pedagogical Institute for Aromanians,
Bucharest, 153
Peloponnesian War, 34
People’s House, 283
perestroika (restructuring) and glasnost
(openness) policy, 291
Pertusi, Agostino, 37
Petchenegs, 34, 120, 126
Peter (Petru) I Muşat, 58, 87
Peter Asen, 12, 75, 79, 97, 109, 116,
117, 120, 122, 123, 124, 130, 131
Peterson, E., 66
Petrescu, Dan, 284
Petrović Njegos Dynasty, 249
Petrovich, George, 252
Peyfuss, Max Demeter, 144, 145
Phanariot epoch, 234
Phanariots, 147
314
INDEX
Philippide, Daniel, 97
Philippines, 283
Philippopolis (Plovdiv), 126, 239
Phylothei, 81
Pinon, René, 134
Pîrvulescu, Constantin, 284
Pisides, Georgios, 42
Plautus (Titus Maccius), 195
Pliny (Gaius Plinius Secundus), 195
Pliska, 54, 55
Plutarch, 33, 35, 36
Poland, 46, 58, 268, 269, 270
Polish Orthodox Church, 180
Polybius, 33, 35
Popa, Ylli, 289
Pope Gregory VII, 126
Pope Innocent III, 75, 105, 116, 122,
128, 129
Pope Leo III, 50, 68
Pope Nicholas I, 47, 130
Pope Pascal I, 50
Popescu, Radu, 57
Popović, Duśan, 112
Popović, Milidin, 287
Poujade, Emile, 150
Pozsgay, Imre, 272
Prague, 267, 276, 277, 278
Prague Spring, 278, 279, 282
Preslav, 50, 74
Preslav round church, 50, 52, 54, 56
Prespa, 127
Primate Basil of Târnovo, 116
Primov, Borislav, 110, 118
Princely Church in Câmpulung, 57
Priština, 244
Prizren, 126
Prizren League, 242
Proclamation of Islaz, 152
Procopius of Caesarea, 20, 34, 36, 40
Propp, Vladimir I., 201, 204
Protestantism, 214
Protopope Constantine, 222
Psycharis, Iannis, 144
Puşcariu, Sextil, 101
R
Răceanu, Grigore, 284
Rački, Franjo, 112
Rădăuţi, 57
Radin, Paul, 198
Radu Negru, 57
Radu the Handsome (Radu cel Frumos),
34
Raglan, Lord, 204
Rakovski, Georgi Sava, 238
Rakowski, Mieczyslaw, 272
Raška, 48, 51, 56
Raška Principality, 77
Ravenna, 50
religious schism of 1054, 20, 252
Renaissance, 230, 252
Republic of Macedonia, 95, 231
Republic of Montenegro (Črna Gora), 95,
241, 243, 248, 255, 287, 295, 297,
298
Republic of Venice, 249
Rhine, 46, 230
Ribbentrop-Molotov Pact, 285, 292
Rigas, Velestinlis, 142, 234
Rilskij, Neophyt, 144
Rizhkov, Nikolai, 291
Roesler, Robert, 98, 107
Roja, George Constantine, 143, 245
Roman Catholics, 242
Roman Empire, 20, 23, 26, 43, 66, 68,
78, 100, 105, 106, 107, 232
Roman, Petre, 286
Roman-Catholic Church, 180
Roman-Catholicism, 214
Romania, 96, 180, 181, 183, 196, 201,
229, 242, 243, 269, 281
Greater Romania, 248
Romanian, 95
continuity, 98, 99, 107, 136
historiography, 98, 99, 100, 107,
112, 119
linguistics, 100
nation, 246
nationality, 246
Romanian Communist Party, 283
Romanian Orthodox Church, 180
Romanian Principalities, 11, 63, 91,
135, 142, 147, 148, 234, 241, 244
Romanian-Bulgarian Kingdom, 99, 129,
130, 132, 133
Romanians, 110, 116, 117, 127, 128,
131, 133, 134, 135, 136, 143, 144,
145, 146, 148, 149, 151, 153, 155,
181, 186, 190, 229, 238, 244, 245,
246, 247, 251
Aromanians (Macedo-Romanians),
244
Asenid Romanians, 118
Balkan Romanians, 12, 97, 98, 99,
100, 101, 102, 103, 104, 105,
112, 118, 119, 121, 130, 145,
146, 154, 232, 242, 245, 246,
247, 248, 251
Daco-Romanians, 106, 118, 119,
132, 136, 143, 146, 147
Haemus Romanians, 101, 119
Istro-Romanians, 95, 101, 114, 118,
244
Macedo-Romanians, 244, 247
Megleno-Romanians, 95, 96, 101,
118, 244
INDEX
North-Danubian Romanians, 82, 97,
101, 103, 105, 107, 114, 115,
118, 131, 132, 133, 136, 143,
232, 247
South-Danubian Romanians, 102,
105, 106, 132, 143, 147, 246
Timoc Romanians, 244, 248
Transylvanian Romanians, 96, 132,
149
Western Romanians, 113
Romanity, 11, 103, 105, 109
Balkan Romanity, 97, 98, 99, 100,
101, 102, 111, 114, 115, 135
Carpathian-Danubian-Balkan
Romanity, 115
common Romanity of Aromanians
and Romanians, 102
Daco-Romanity, 99, 100
Eastern Romanity, 118, 232, 244
of Aromanians, 96, 145, 159
of the Asenids, 101, 102
Romanian Romanity, 107, 129, 131,
133
Southeastern European Romanity,
100
Vlach Romanity, 106
Romanov Dynasty, 233
Romans, 105
Rome, 47, 64, 65, 66, 67, 75, 76, 82, 90,
101, 241, 244
Rosetti, Alexandru, 102
Rosetti, C. A., 150, 154
Rouillard, Germaine, 120
Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 259, 261
Russia, 16, 46, 47, 52, 58, 79, 80, 81,
180, 238, 239, 253, 293, 294
Russian Church, 79, 81
Russian Empire, 241
Russian Orthodox Church, 180
Russian Patriarchate, 81
Russian world, 79
Russians, 34
Russo-Turkish Wars, 141, 237, 238
S
Şaguna, Andrei, 245
Saint Cyril, 55
Saint Methodius, 55
Saint Nicholas Church in Curtea de
Argeş, 57
Saint Nicholas Church in Rădăuţi, 57
Saint Sophia of Ohrid, 54
Salonika, 51, 76, 131
Salonika Empire, 123
Samuel, 75, 124, 125, 126, 127, 130
San Stefano, 238
San Stefano Peace Treaty, 242
Sandjak, 298
315
Saramandu, Nicolae, 101, 103
Satan, 218, 219
Sava, 232
Sava Nemanya, 49, 51, 53, 54, 77
Saxons, 98
Scandinavia, 46, 183
Scărlătoiu, Elena, 101, 103
Scottish Enlightenment, 262
Scythia Minor, 180
Scythians, 34
Second Rome. See Byzantium
Second World War, 96, 102, 110, 135,
159, 177, 231, 232, 240, 244, 248,
249, 255, 290
Seneslau, 83
Şerban Cantacuzino, 89
Serbia, 48, 51, 53, 54, 56, 77, 78, 88,
90, 91, 95, 103, 120, 180, 243, 248,
251, 255, 287, 295, 297, 298
Greater Serbia, 16, 253, 254, 296
Serbian Church, 77, 78
Serbian Empire, 233
Serbian Kingdom, 68, 296
Serbian national renaissance, 252
Serbian Orthodox Church, 180
Serbian Revolution, 252
Serbian-Croat-Slovenian state, 249
Serbo-Croatian, 252
Serbs, 126, 151, 231, 232, 238, 241,
248, 249, 251, 252, 255
Muslim Serbs, 249
Serres, 184
Ševčenko, Ihor, 32
Shehu, Mehmet, 287
Shkodër, 290
Shushkevich, Stanislav, 295
Siaciştea Puliu, 142
Sicily, 120
Sideri, Yisu, 149, 150
siege of Vienna, 252
Simeon, 50, 52, 53, 54, 55, 69, 74, 75,
76, 78, 90, 124
Simeon Archbishop of Salonika, 218
Simeon the Monk. See Stephen I
Nemanya
Sina, Simeon George, 142
Şincai, Gheorghe, 98, 146
Siracu, 136
Siret, 87
Sisman III, 236
Skanderbeg, Georgi Kastriot, 241
Skocpol, Theda, 266
Skok, Petar, 111, 112
Skopje, 77, 78, 236
Skylitzes, John, 18
Slavicization, 112, 113, 114
Slavonic, 187
Slavs, 19, 47, 63
316
INDEX
South-Danubian Slavs, 180
Slovakia, 278
Slovaks, 252
Slovenes, 232, 248, 252
Slovenia, 295, 297
Slovenianism, 252
Smith, Adam, 262, 265
Smyrna, 236
Social Contract, 268
Social Democratic Party, 286
Society for Macedo-Romanian Culture,
247
Sofia, 239, 240, 247, 280
Sofronie of Vratsa, 237
Solidarnośċ (Solidarity), 270, 271, 272
Sosigenes, 180
Sosigenes’s calendar, 180
Soviet Union, 268, 271, 285, 290, 291,
294
Soviet Union Communist Party, 291
Sovietization, 240
Spain, 56, 230, 260, 269
St. Albertus Magnus, 261
St. Andrew, 183
St. Augustine, 179, 182
St. Basil the Great, 219
St. Bernard de Clairvaux, 83
St. Demetrios, 181
St. George, 181
St. Ignatius, 188
St. Ilie, 221
St. John the Baptist, 76, 184
St. Luke, 218
St. Mark, 218
St. Mary, 180
St. Nicholas, 183
St. Paul, 180, 188
St. Peter, 180, 213
St. Petersburg, 234
St. Simeon Stylites, 181
St. Theodores, 191
St. Thomas Aquinas, 261
Stalin, Joseph (b. Iosif Vissarionovich
Dzhugashvili), 291
Stalinism, 255
Stamboul, 250
Stănescu, Eugen, 102, 103
Stara Planina, 56
Starcević, S., 253
Starcevo-Gorica, 55
STASI, 277
Ştefănescu, Ştefan, 102
Stefani, Simon, 289
Stein, Ernst, 34
Stepan, Alfred, 283
Stephen Dushan (Stephen Urosh IV), 78,
88, 91
Stephen I Nemanya, 49, 51, 53, 56, 77
Stephen I of Hungary, 48
Stephen II Nemanya, Autocrator, 49, 77
Stephen Urosh V, 79
Stoics, 65
Strossmayer, I., 253
Studenica Church of the Holy Virgin, 51,
53, 54, 56, 58
Sturdza, Dimitrie A., 154
successors of Theophanes the
Confessor, 22, 40
Suceava, 57, 89
Sulzer, Franz Joseph, 98, 107
Sviatopluk, 34
Synkellos, Georgios, 21
Szeklers, 98
Szelényi, Iván, 268
Szentpétery, E., 82, 85
T
Târgovişte, 58
Târgu Mureş, 286
Târnovo, 12, 130, 131
Târnovo (New Tzarigrad), 75, 76
Târnovo Church, 76
Tartars, 34, 99, 116, 130, 292
Tăutu, Aloisiu, 118
Taylor, Archer, 197, 205
Tell, Christian, 134, 149, 150, 153, 154
The New Forum, 277
Theodore Lascaris, 69
Theodore Metochites, 29, 31
Theodorescu, Răzvan, 47
Theophanes the Confessor, 40
Theophylactus of Ohrid, 49
Theophylactus of Simocatta, 21, 34, 36,
41, 42
Thessaly, 95, 102, 111, 152, 235
Third Rome, 81, 90
Thomaschek, Wilhelm, 98, 107
Thrace, 67, 95, 119, 184, 194, 235, 239,
244
Thracian-Illyrians, 232
Thucydides, 33, 34
Thunmann, Johannes, 138
Thurn, Johannes, 18
Tiananmen Square, 276, 289
Tilly, Charles, 267
Timişoara, 143
Timoc, 244
Timoc area, 248
Tirana, 287, 289
Tismăneanu, Vladimir, 229
Tito, Josip Broz, 232, 249, 250, 255,
287, 295
Titoism, 255
Titus Livius, 213
Tocqueville, Alexis de, 262, 266
Todorov, Nicolai, 238
INDEX
Tökés, László, 285
Tomescu, Ioan Şomu, 153
Tozaj, Neshat, 289
Trajan, 98, 107
Transcaucasia, 293
Transylvania, 48, 59, 82, 83, 96, 141,
146, 236, 245
Transylvanian School, 98, 107, 143,
144, 146, 245
Cluj School, 101
Trau (Trogir), 106
Traulos, 126
Treaty of Berlin, 239
Treaty of Bucharest, 157, 245, 247, 251
Treaty of Florence, 236
Treaty of Lausanne, 159
Treaty of London, 243
Treaty of San Stefano, 239
Trebizond Empire, 123
Triballi, 34
Tricopol, Toma, 149, 150
Trieste, 250
Trobriand Islands, 200
Tudjman, Franjo, 297
Tudoran, Dorin, 284
Tunusli brothers, 97
Turanians, 47
Turkey, 175, 235, 238, 239, 242
Turkification, 242
Turkish, 187, 242
Turkish-Greek War, 158, 236
Turkish-Italian War, 243
Turks, 89, 94, 231, 232, 233, 236, 251,
279
U
Ucuta, Constantine, 142, 245
Ukraine, 292
Ulbricht, Walter, 275
Ulici, Laurenţiu, 229
Ungrovlachia. See Walachia
Union of 1 December 1918, 96, 107, 134
Union of Democratic Forces (UDF), 281
Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
(USSR), 231
Union of Volunteers for Enver Hoxha,
290
University of Tirana, 290
University Square, Bucharest, 286
Ureche, Grigore, 57, 84, 121
Urechia, Vasile Alexandrescu, 149, 154
Uruguay, 260
Uspenskij, Feodor, 109
Ustashes, 254
V
Valéry, Paul, 63
317
Vasile Lupu, 59
Vassilevsky, Vasili, 111
Vatatze, Leon, 120
Veis, Nikolaos, 109
Veliko-Serbianism, 255
Velvet Revolution, 279
Venice, 100, 233, 234, 252
Venizelos, Eleutherios, 157, 235
Versailles, 158
Versailles Peace Conference, 247
Veszprem, 48
Vidin, 118, 236, 244
Vienna, 141, 233, 234, 245, 252, 254
Villehardouin, Geoffroy de, 106, 117
Virgil (Publius Vergilius Maro), 40, 65
Vlach Church, 125
Vlachia, 121, 124
Asenid Vlachia, 99, 102, 117, 118,
121, 123, 132
Little Vlachia, 121
North-Danubian Vlachia, 100
Rodope Vlachia, 121
South-Danubian Vlachia, 100
Thessalian Vlachia (Greater Vlachia),
100, 121
Upper Vlachia, 121
Vlachs, 94, 102, 103, 111, 113, 117,
128, 130, 137, 138, 231, 242, 245
abasileutoi, 120
Armâni, 95
Asenid Vlachs, 101, 118, 122
Balkan Vlachs, 34, 97, 99, 104, 147
Blaci, Blachi, or Valachi, 104
Blas, Blac, Blascois, 105
Blasci, Blacti, 105
Bulgarian Vlachs, 114
Cotso-Vlachs, 146
Dacos, 104
Getae, 104
Greek Vlachs, 114
Haemus Vlachs, 75
Moesians, 104
North-Danubian Vlachs, 123
Ottoman Empire Vlachs, 112
Rëmëri, 95
Rumâni, 95
Slav Vlachs, 113
South-Danubian Vlachs, 98, 123
Thracian Vlachs, 119
Vlachoi, 104
Vlasis, 95
wolch/wloch, 105
Vladimir Sviatoslavitch, 47, 53, 75, 79
Vlaicu-Vladislav, 85, 86, 88
Vlora, 243
Vogt, Evon A., 179, 214, 215
Vogt, J., 65
Voitech, George, 125
318
INDEX
Voivodina, 232, 252, 255, 295, 297, 298
Voragine, Jacobus of, 195
Voronca, Elena Niculiţă, 186
Vranje, 127
Vries, Jan de, 204
W
Walachia, 11, 58, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 97,
109, 132
Walachian Church, 84
Wałęsa, Lech, 270, 272
Wall of Byzantium, 50
Warsaw, 272, 276, 277
Warsaw Pact, 272, 282
Weber, Max, 266, 283
West Germany, 284
Western historiography, 104, 105, 131
Western world, 20, 27, 30
Wirth, G., 40
Wolff, Robert Lee, 111, 126
Workers’ Defense Committee (KOR), 270
X
Xenopol, Alexandru D., 99
Xoxe, Koçi, 287
XXth World Congress of Historical
Sciences, 19
Y
Yeltsin, Boris, 293, 294
Young Turks, 242, 247
Ypsilanti, Alexander, 235
Yugoslav Constitution, 250
Yugoslav Federation, 231, 287, 295
Yugoslav historiography, 111, 114
Yugoslav League of Communists, 296
Yugoslavia, 231, 236, 243, 244, 248,
249, 254
Z
Zagreb, 249
Zahlumya, 48
Zalavár military chieftains, 48
Zhelev, Zheliu, 280, 281
Zhivkov, Todor, 241, 279, 280, 281
Zilliacus, Henrik, 26
Zlatarski, Vasil, 110, 126
Zub, Alexandru, 230
Zumthor, Paul, 207
Zvonimir, Demetrius, 126
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